Shadow Rider
by BlackBird'292
Summary: A war is raging in the land... and the people of Alagaesia will find that only shadow can defeat darkness. My version of the third book. The sequel, "Night of the Falling Stars" is out, as this story is completed. Note: Currently under revisation.
1. Chapter 1

_A red sword…flashing in the rain…darkness all around…a hoarse scream…cold laughter…_

Eragon woke, drenched in sweat. He sighed. The dream had come to him every night since the battle of the Burning Plains. For five days, he feared sleep almost as much as he feared death.

The rider got out of his tent into the cool night air, and belted on his new sword. He had taken it from a dead captain of the Empire; and though its balance was better than most human made blades, it was a mere toy compared to Zar'roc. Eragon's stomach clenched painfully as he thought of his old sword, taken by one who he thought was a friend. A dead friend. And now…

A brother.

Who would have thought the one that he once pitied, and fought with, was in fact his brother in flesh and blood? Why did the fates play with his emotions so?

Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, too numerous to be buried. The Varden had already started burning the corpses in some parts of the plains, but most of them were still there, their hollow gazes boring into anyone who looked at them. Blood stained the land crimson.

The rider walked among the rotting remains, trying to quell his revulsion. The half dried blood stuck to his boots, and he tried to pay it no heed; but it was difficult. Hiding his distaste, he noticed that many carrion birds had already gathered on the plains, tearing away at Varden and Empire soldier alike. Eragon closed his eyes and grimaced. It was because of this that he had despaired.

For five days, he had shut himself off from all who he knew, even his dragon, Saphira. He preferred to be alone, to think about what had happened to him, what was happening to him, and what would happen to him. His cousin Roran dared not approach him now, even though his Katrina was at stake. No one dared talk to him now. Even Saphira.

"Eragon!" called a voice behind him.

He slowly turned around, already knowing who the person was without looking. "Arya svit-kona." He replied with a bow, and then waited silently for the elf to speak.

"What has come over you, Shur'tugal? All are worried about you. And yet you answer no one. Tell me what troubles you."

Eragon paced in a small circle before answering. "This…and that…" he said quietly, gesturing to all things around them.

"Answer me, Eragon." Said Arya, just as quietly.

There they stood silently, without moving. After a long while, Eragon shifted slightly and said, " Arya, please tell Roran that we will set out for Helgrind tomorrow morning." And with that, he sped off into the darkness.

_What is happening to me?_

_Why am I like this?_

_Is it that I fear the future?_

_Or is it that I fear the past?_

On he ran, until he reached a small forest on the fringes of the plains. This was where he hid from the world, left alone to think his dark thoughts. But not now. The elf was right. He needed to pull himself together. With a sigh, he sat down on a rock in a small clearing, and began to meditate.

The presence of the lives around him calmed Eragon immediately. Minds flickered and shone, connecting with him. Here, these creatures lived a life still untouched by battle or war, a life that was just too peaceful for the rider to imagine now. He sighed in contentment. This was the serenity that he had searched for, and he once again felt as if he was part of the world.

But there was a slight discord.

Puzzled, Eragon found that around him, in several parts of the woods, creatures were fleeing from several… things. He could not sense what they were running away from, but he knew that the unknown objects were coming towards… him.

With a sinking feeling, he ducked his head just in time to feel a poisoned dart fly past the space his head had been a second before.


	2. Chapter 2

Eragon immediately rolled to the ground, crouching in a defensive position. He set up every ward he knew around his body, and then held his breath, waiting for who, or what might come to meet him.

"Who goes?" he shouted into the darkness. Nothing answered him. He closed his eyes, probing the forest with his mind. No one. Then a twig cracked behind him, and he whirled around to face the reason of the sound.

Seven beings cloaked in black, stepped into the clearing surrounding him. All had masks covering their faces, and the only thing that Eragon could see were the eyes. The one in the lead raised up his hand, and whispered several inaudible words. _Damn, _thought Eragon, bracing himself for a spell. _Magicians._

The effect of the magic could be sensed instantly. The rider felt as though a stifling blanket was laid on him, blocking him from everything in the outside world. He felt for his dragon's mind, but something was muffling the contact. He could barely sense her. _Saphira!_ He screamed in his mind. No one answered. And soon, he could feel nothing at all. Eragon mentally kicked himself. He should of known…

His mouth tightened into a grim line as he drew his sword. So they thought that they could defeat him while he was alone? They had no idea what they were facing. The seven magic users also drew their weapons, which varied from swords to mattocks to short stabbing daggers. The leader carried a long black staff slightly taller than himself. With a cry, Eragon leapt at the attackers.

The leader simply put out his hand and shouted, "Thrysta vindr!"

No. Not _his_ hand. _Her_ hand… the voice was that of a woman…

Eragon screamed as the great force hit him. Several ribs cracked and pierced his lungs. His wards were knocked aside, no more than rotten wooden doors to the attack. He could feel himself flying through the air and slamming into a tree behind him. But he just barely knew it. The first blow had already nearly knocked him unconscious. It was even worse than the time five days ago, when Murtagh had hit him in the Burning Plains.

He managed to place his hand on his chest through the pain and gasped, "Waíse heill!" The ribs snapped back into place, and his vision cleared just in time to see the woman swing her staff at him. He ducked under the blow, and thrust his sword out at the nearest sorcerer. The sorcerer silently parried the awkward attack with his knives and with one sweep, he knocked the sword from the rider's hands with astonishing strength. The blade flew straight into a tree, where it sunk to the hilt with a dull thump.

_Impossible!_ Thought Eragon desperately, as he ducked again to avoid a sword slash. It seemed that all seven magicians were more powerful than him, and also more powerful than Murtagh, the red rider himself. Which didn't make any sense at all. If it were true, Surda could be destroyed almost instantly with the combined power of the seven.

A dagger flew towards him with an astonishing speed, and he barely dodged the edge of the weapon. Panting, Eragon raised his hands before him, wishing that he had remembered to bring another blade with him.

Another spell crashed into a tree beside him, splintering its bark and tearing into the wood. Cracking and groaning, the tree crashed onto the ground. Eragon gritted his teeth in frustration.

Then it dawned on him. _Combined…_

Yes… he could see it now. Seven people surrounded him, but only _one_ would attack him at a time. It was cleverly hidden, but it was there never less. The minds of all the sorcerers were linked, and all their power flowed freely between them. Their powers could be combined on one, or on many. That was the reason behind their hellish strength.

_But how am I going to break their formation?_

The staff came at him, and Eragon was forced to block it with his arm. The rider winced; the blow had nearly broken his bones. Reaching out, he pressed the weapon to the side and managed to hit the sorceress with the side of his palm.

The woman remained silent and endured the pain, but her companions did not. Some of them gasped, and others groaned.

Eragon smiled. He now knew the fatal weakness of the group.

But it was only because of the fact that they only wanted to capture him that his plan just might work.


	3. Chapter 3

_Calm. I need to be calm._

_They have a weakness. A weakness that I can use._

The rider settled down into a stance, and once again raised his hands in front of him. He breathed in deeply, clearing his mind as he created a plan.

The seven magicians were circling him slowly, slowly closing on where he stood. If he waited any longer, escape would no longer be a viable option.

_Calm._ Cautiously, he walked a few steps to his right, the leaves rustling under his feet. A drop of cold sweat dripped down from his brow.

A tall spell caster lashed out suddenly with his sword.

Eragon rolled to the ground as a blade passed a hair's breadth above him. The seven magicians were tightening the circle. He had little time left. _Just a few steps more…_

He wove through the swords and the daggers, evading the spells that the sorcerers sent after him. If the seven had wanted to kill him, they could have done it in merely a moment; but he was still too valuable to be sent to the gates of hell. Though ironic, for that, he was thankful.

_Yes!_

His silvery hand gleamed in the dim moonlight as he grasped the hilt of his sword. He pulled it out of the tree with a grunt, and using the Elvin agility he possessed, leapt nimbly aside as the ball of fire blasted past him. Eragon crouched to the ground and closed his eyes for a brief moment to collect his thoughts. _Only one way to do this._

Silently, he opened his eyes and rose, holding his sword out in front of him. With all the strength he could use, he slashed at the leader, forcing her to parry the blow. Without stopping, he abandoned his attack on the woman and whipped his blade around, cutting at another sorcerer. Slightly surprised by the strike, the sorcerer backed off, but not quickly enough.

A long gash opened on the magician's chest, and he cried out in pain. The effect was enormous. Instantly, several magicians winced; some stumbled backwards. For they were all linked. However, Eragon did not press on. Instead, he again ran to the next assassin and thrust out his sword. Not waiting for resistance, he spun around and slashed out at the next with inhuman speed. The swing drew out blood.

_It's working! _By attacking them one by one swiftly, Eragon was causing them to battle on their own against him, thus dividing their power. They had to do so to block the attacks the rider made, and once unable to concentrate their energy… the magicians would be easy prey.

Apparently, the leader knew this too as she signaled her men to back off from him, forcing Eragon to confront her alone. But he was too quick, and his sword was a blazing blur in the darkness.

_Concentrate._

_Flow with my sword._

Aiming for a magician's neck, the rider once more swung his sword. But even before the blade reached its target, Eragon knew that something was wrong. The sorcerer's hands lay useless beside him, and he was breathing heavily; his position showed that he was struggling even to stand.

Eragon felt his sword sink into the soft flesh, and his enemy's head flew to the ground with a small thump. All of the remaining six stumbled as their minds felt the death of their dead companion, and some groaned. All except one -- the leader herself. Seemingly unfazed by the loss, she thrust out her staff toward the rider's stomach. And despite the blunt tip, it pierced Eragon's flesh and came out the other side.

Eragon screamed. He now knew what the woman had done; she had sapped the remaining power of the sorcerer and let him get killed under the rider's blade…just to slow down Eragon's movements. Through blurry eyes, he pulled the black staff out of his body and gave a feeble swipe with his sword. He vaguely felt his blade being knocked out of his hands. The world started to spin around him.

Eragon put his right hand to the wound and with words barely above a whisper, he said, "Waíse…waíse heill…" He felt his energy flowing out in an alarming rate, but he didn't care now. He could barely think. Footsteps were moving toward him.

Finally, the wound sealed itself together, and he fell forward with a thump. As he struggled to stand he saw a figure, sword in hand, moving to him. "No…" Eragon gasped.

When the blow came, he lifted his left arm to block it.

Blood streamed from the severed limb. Everything was spinning. Faintly, he saw the person raise his sword for the final blow, muttering words under his breath.

Darkness was closing in from the corners of his eyesight. Turning his head to the side, the rider tried to look again at the arm that had left him.

All he saw was red. That was the last thing his eyes took in before failing him completely.


	4. Chapter 4

_A red, elegant sword…flashing in the rain swept battlefield…darkness all around the two fighters…a hoarse scream full of agony…cold, maniacal laughter…_

Eragon snapped his eyes open and drew a rattling breath. He was still in the small forest clearing, lying on the ground. _What happened?_ His wounds were bandaged expertly, including his severed arm, but he wasn't with the Varden. He cursed when he thought of his arm. _Crippled once more_…_ useless._

The rider managed to prop himself up into a sitting position. _What happened? _He thought again. What was it that nagging feeling at the back of his mind that troubled him so? Something that he should be remembering—

Then it all came rushing back.

_Pain was the only thing Eragon could feel. The dark figure above him with a blade in hand was not visible now. Slowly, the rider was slipping into darkness. He heard the faint whistling of a sword in the shadows as it came to him… but only a sharp clang of metal reached his ears._

_Eragon opened his eyes slowly. In front of him, blocking the blade of the sorcerer was a slim, elegant sword that gleamed in the moonlight. A slim body was wielding it._

_Then all went black._

Someone had saved him last night. He knew that he recognized that person, but he still could not think of whom. It was irritating.

Then he saw a figure lying less than a bowshot from him.

"Arya!"

The elf stirred, and she too sat up, leaning against a tree. "Eragon…"

"Are you alright?"

"Not… quite." Arya replied, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "They broke one of my legs before I could slay them all."

"But can it not be healed?"

Arya gave a mirthless laugh. "Shur'tugal, I can now barely move myself. The battle was long and hard, and it was a miracle that I managed to save you."

"But how did you know I was in trouble?"

"After our talk, I decided to go after you. I was worried."

Eragon bowed his head. "I owe you my life, Arya."

"No. I was only repaying my debt. And I failed to save your arm."

"But I… I…"

The elf let out a small smile tiredly. "If you are so intent on indebting yourself to me, I have but one request: please refrain from running off on your own in the future. It does no good to you or the Varden, as you have discovered today."

"I… I will be sure to—"

A groan from a nearby body interrupted him. It still clutched a black staff. _The leader!_ Eragon immediately pointed to the woman and whispered, "Slytha." The body slumped to the ground immediately.

"She is a powerful magician," said Arya quietly, "much more powerful than you when we first met."

"I know."

"I am quite certain that this is the work of the Black Hand. I am not sure what Galbatorix's plans are, sending this group merely days after the battle… but it troubles me to find that the Black Hand has such strong and well-trained magicians. These seven people alone would be able to destroy the Du Vrangr Gata with near no effort."



Eragon sighed and ran his remaining hand through his hair. "Aye. It is truly something to worry about. But why did he send these spell casters just after the battle? It simply makes no sense."

"An act of desperation, most probably. He must have received word that Murtagh failed in his attempt." Arya answered. "But this is too bold a move, even for the king. He must be growing frustrated that no matter what he does, you always slip from his grasp."

"That's purely because luck is mostly on my side and not on his." Muttered Eragon. "If he keeps on sending men after me…"

Arya glanced at the sky. "We should return to the Varden. The barrier around us prevents us from contacting any creature outside, and it draws on the strength of the forest, making it impossible to penetrate. Saphira may not even know that you're here."

"Agreed. Rïsa!" Eragon commanded. The body of the sorcerer rose in the air. "She would be useful when we get back."

Arya nodded. Eragon fixed her leg securely with some crude materials, and with the elf leaning on the rider for support, they walked out of the clearing.


	5. Chapter 5

I would like to thank **The Deodarizer, ****Torilei **and** given-inside** for their advice on "making a story longer". (Oh, and given-inside? I'm fourteen. And thanks for the four reviews!)

More advice is welcomed! So reviews, please! Or Eragon will have a chapter he'll never forget… I'll make him rape Arya! Mwahahaha!

Arya: You wouldn't!

Me: Oh yes I would. If the reviews count does not go over 15 by the day after tomorrow…heh heh heh…

Hmm… where's Eragon? I expect he's somewhere trying to bribe people not to review. Don't listen to him though.

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As they stumbled out of the forest with the sorceress' body floating behind them, Eragon breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost dawn. He could see the faint tinges of orange creeping into the sky. Arya stumbled again, and nearly fell down, but the rider wrapped his remaining arm around her waist and helped the elf right herself.

He forced himself to remain calm as his hand touched the elf's slim waist. Eragon could feel his face heating up, but the rider said nothing and continued to help the elf walk toward the Varden's camps, which were almost a league away.

_The road does always seem to be a longer when you're crippled,_ thought Eragon wryly. Just hours before, he had ran almost effortlessly over the distance. However, now he almost wanted nothing but to make sure the journey would never end. The scent of fresh pine needles was in his nose, and the one person that he thought about day and night was closely leaning against him.

Then he heard the sound of clattering hooves coming from the distance. A look of surprise spread across his face. Was it the Varden, sending out a search party to look for them? But no one knew about their departure… Then who was it? He quickly released his magic on the sorceress and let her drop to the ground. Eragon then quickly hid her with an illusion spell. If the horsemen were coming to rescue her, they would have to find her first.

A small company of about thirty horsemen galloped over a hill. They split into two groups and the groups surrounded Eragon and Arya, whooping and shouting while they did. They had their rusty weapons in their gloved hands, and their clothes were battered and weather stained.

Eragon frowned. These people reminded him of something._ Oh no…_thought the rider with a sinking heart. He now knew what they made him think of. The encounter with Torkenbrand in the Beor Mountains. _Slavers? Why are any in the area?_

The leader dismounted and looked at the two. He whistled. " Elves! Elves, for god's sake! Two crippled elves together in the wilderness. Blimey, we've sure got a nice catch today!" Arya remained silent. Eragon bit back a retort and tried to probe the man's mind. It was incredible ugly and unclean; there was no mercy in it, only the love of gold. The leader examined them for a while before saying, "So, Bern! How much do you think the Varden or the Empire will pay for them?"

A muscled man with a sword thought for a second before replying. " The Varden are a pack of dogs almost on the edge of starvation. You know that from our treaty." The leader nodded and smiled. _Treaty? What treaty?_ Bern continued, "But the Empire is quite rich from all the taxes. And there is the fact that the Empire will _imprison_ them. I'm quite sure that these elves are of the Varden, and if we give them back, they will take a hundred men and destroy us when they recover from their wounds.

Eragon gently put Arya down on the ground and pulled out his sword. His knuckles were white from gripping on the blade. He felt anger inside him, and he drew strength from it. Who were those men, talking as though he and Arya were already captured? Arya, the elven princess, and he, a dragon rider? And then he remembered. _Saphira! _He shouted in his mind. Eragon cursed himself for contacting her so late. He knew that he had been distracted by Arya.

_Saphira! _No one answered. Around her mind there was an iron hard wall incredibly strong. _Damn it… _She had to get angry with him at this moment, didn't she? He could almost hear the sound of her voice scolding him for leaving her alone for so long. He felt a small stab of guilt. _Well, that can't be undone now._

He bended over Arya and whispered, "Contact Saphira for me. Maybe she will recognize your touch." Eragon straightened up and said to the leader, "What makes you think we will let you capture us?" The leader smiled. "This."

Eragon felt a small prick in his leg. He looked down and found a small dart, barely larger than the tip of an arrow. _Bastards!_ He could feel himself growing dizzy, and he was forgetting more and more words of the ancient language. In the corner of his eye, Eragon could see Arya placing both hands on her temples and breathing heavily. What could he do now? He suddenly smiled. "_It means if you are captured and drugged and cannot recall the ancient language, yes, even then, you may cast a spell, though only in the gravest circumstances…"_ Well, the circumstances were certainly grave. He closed his eyes and focused on the anger, despair and dismay he had felt these past few days. And with a cry, he released the power.

The area surrounding him suddenly burst into blue flames. Eragon could feel his strength leaving him… he fell on the ground shaking uncontrollably… he felt himself struggling to breathe…

Then all went black.

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Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

Woah… threats on Arya really do work. I'm really thankful for all those reviews.

Eragon: How could you sob heartless things review? I just lost an arm! Couldn't I have just one nice chapter?

Me: No, unfortunately. And shut up.

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_A red, elegant sword, held by a man with flaming hair…the crimson sword flashing in the rain swept battlefield, high above the battling armies…night all around the two fighters, a duel of dark and shadow…a hoarse scream full of agony, emanating from one of the men …cold, maniacal laughter, chilling to the bone…_

Eragon screamed.

"Eragon!" cried a voice. Eragon vaguely felt himself being held in the arms of a woman, and he once again smelled the scent of pine needles. The woman was sobbing gently. "Arya…" he rasped, before he passed out again.

He thought he heard the sound of galloping hooves… a soft but strong arm lifting him onto a horse… vaguely feeling himself slumping on the saddle…cursing himself for being so weak, for loosing an arm, for being not able to protect himself… tears flowing out of his eyes…

It was night again when he woke up. _Where am I?_ Then he saw the familiar Varden insignia on the inside of the tent. _What happened?_

_What happened!? What happened is that you nearly got yourself killed with that trick of yours! Do you know how worried we were?_ Replied a voice in his mind, full of rage.

_Saphira?_

_Of course! I see that you can still remember my name after not talking to me for five days. That's an improvement._

_Saphira!_

_Shut up! I can't stand you! Going out alone knowing that the Black Hand was after you, then using that spell against the slavers…what has gotten into you? You're getting more reckless by the minute!_

_So it was the Black Hand, then?_

_Who did you think it would be? You had to go out there and let them chop off your arm, did you? I think that—_

Saphira stopped talking. Eragon was now outside the tent, pointing his sword directly at the dragon. "Leave me be, would you? I've had enough trouble these days without your bickering." The rider said slowly, spitting out each word. His face was as white as a piece of paper, and his eyes held not anger… but infinite sorrow. He sheathed his sword and began walking away from his dragon. Eragon hissed as a snake might, but suddenly a wave of pain and dizziness struck him. He fell face down into the dirt, and knew nothing more.

"Angela! I think he's waking up!"

"Yes, I think he is. Argetlam! Rise!"

Eragon groaned in his bed and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the witch, Angela. _How long have I been out?_ Then he saw his cousin, Roran, and Orik, the dwarf.

"Very well! I didn't think you'd live after that thing you did to the slavers. And wandering off in the middle of the night… you really do want to die, do you, rider?"

"I might say that I do."

"Then know this: No matter how much you want to seek your death, you can't. You're the hope of the Varden, and you can't just—"

"The crippled hope. The one-armed hope. The hope that seeks death, you say?"

"What the—Eragon, what's the matter with you?" Eragon recognized the person as Orik.

"Why nothing has come over me, Orik. It's just that I…that I…" Eragon broke into laughter. "Just that I lost my _arm._ It doesn't seem that big a problem now, does it?" Still laughing, tears began to flow down his face. "The almighty crippled rider who seeks to defeat the dragon king. A tale worthy of songs! And yet, only in songs do those things happen. Do you see now? Do you?"

Eragon leapt off the bed. Everyone around him was silent. "Roran? Due to some delays… we could not follow our original plan. So once again, I say to you: We will set out to Helgrind tomorrow morning. I will prepare the horses. Do not be late." The rider walked out the tent. No one stopped him.

"Nasuada, I will ask you just one more time. _Why were there slavers in the area?_" Arya said quietly.

Nasuada sighed. She pulled out a bundle of documents from under her desk and put it on the table. "Arya… What do you know about the Slaver's Guild?"

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Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey, I'm back! So, what do you guys think about the storyline so far? Is it beginning to get a bit too dark or wild?

And before I forget… could everybody give me some ideas for a female dragon name and a female human name? Thanks.

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"You can't go, and that's an order from your liege! Has it occurred to you that the Empire could attack any minute?"

"My lady Nasuada… I swore fealty to you to save your skin from being controlled by the Council of Elders. I did it for the Varden, not for you. The oath bounds me, yes, but there are no restrictions to breaking it. I answer to one alone: myself."

"Then stay for the sake of the Varden, Eragon! Our scouts have already discovered a small army of the Imperial Legion speeding to Surda this moment. One thousand men, well armed, well trained. They could tear down Surda by themselves. Our warriors would be powerless to stop them, as they are already before us, and the bulk of the Varden's army can't nearly go that fast."

"Our cavalry far outnumbers one thousand. Hunt them down yourself."

"Haven't you been listening? _Well armed, well trained. _The rumors say that the red rider trained them himself. Look, I've been through enough trouble hiding that thing with your arm, spreading rumors that the _sacrifice_ strengthened your powers tenfold. The Varden is already demoralized enough. So will you go?"

Eragon stood silent. "Where are they?" he said quietly.

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Roran cursed Eragon. Again, the rider had given him false hope that they would rescue Katrina tomorrow morning. And again, he had broken his promise. _Damn Surda to hell_, he thought bitterly. _Who cares if it was burned to the ground?_

_-------------------_

Eragon felt the cool wind flow past his face. He was on Saphira again, flying. No one mentioned the argument the day before. The rider looked down at the two thousand horsemen beneath him. _It will be enough. It has to be enough._

_Do not worry, little one. Murtagh trained them, but they are men nevertheless. You are a dragon rider._

_Thank you._

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Arya was still in shock. _How could Nasuada do something like this? _She thought of the argument with the Varden's leader an hour ago…

After her leg was healed, she had gone directly into Nasuada's tent and started demanding answers to her questions. Why were there any slavers? What treaty did the Varden sign with them? Nasuada refused to talk at first, but eventually she gave in. She showed the elf a pile of documents recording the financial problems the Varden has had since they moved to Surda. It was horrifying to read. According to the papers, they were neck high in debt to Surda, to the dwarves, and to various large businesses in the Empire. The lace produce had lessened the problem a bit, but only a little. The only way to solve the problem was to give some businesses they were in debt to land in Surda, or special privileges to them when doing dealings with them.

One such business was the Slaver's Guild, the richest guild in the Empire, rich enough to be almost equal to Surda itself.

To pay off some of the debts, the Varden had given them access to almost all the lands around Surda, and even some of Surda. _It is for the good of the Varden,_ Nasuada had said.

For some reason, those words chilled Arya to the bone.

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Review, please! Or I'll blind Eragon!

Eragon: You will what!?

Me: Just kidding. Blinding people is such a cliché. You will have something far newer.

Eragon: Damn you.


	8. Chapter 8

Anyway, before this chapter starts, I would like to ask you all one question:

What do you think Murtagh should be like?

1.Gone to the dark side of the force…forever.

2.Gone to the dark side of the force but fights back at the last moment.

3.Unwilling servant of the dark side and thwarts his dark master whenever possible.

4.Unwilling servant of the dark side but is so tightly bound in vows that disobeying his master is impossible.

I'm currently thinking of what should happen to him. Please review!

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_I can see them now._

_I can too, Saphira._

_How are your wounds?_

_They are bound tightly in bandages and are already beginning to heal. They will not hinder me._

_Are you sure? Your arm--_

_I will fight without it. I have to._

Saphira swooped down and breathed a torrent of fire down on the soldiers. "Böetq istalri!" shouted Eragon. The flame became a blazing rain of fire that fell upon the men. He could hear screaming. _This is too easy, _he thought, as he destroyed over half their number. _Something is wrong. Trained by Murtagh… this isn't right. They are no better than normal soldiers. _Then it dawned on him._ A diversion._

_Saphira! Head back at once!_

_Are you sure that you're not jumping to conclusions?_

_Saphira, look: Evidence shows that there must be a traitor in our midst. How could of the agents of the Black Hand found me in that forest? How did they know I would come alone?_

_Eragon, maybe they had been watching you for days. You said yourself that they could cloak their minds well._

_But it would be impossible to stay cloaked long enough in order to watch me. Cloaking one's mind takes massive amounts of energy. Oromis told me that, and I have tried it myself. It was one of the last lessons we had before leaving._

_Are you sure about this?_

_Yes. We'd be no more use here, anyway. Our men can defeat them easily._

_Very well._

Eragon mentally contacted every magician in the ranks of the horsemen to tell the men to surround and kill the surviving Imperial troops. It would be an easy job for them. With the fastest speed, rider and dragon sped toward the Varden camps.

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Arya walked into the tent where the sorceress of the Black Hand was being kept. She unsheathed her sword and placed the tip under the chin of the sorceress chained to the bed. The magician still had her mask on.

With a swift pull, the elf removed the mask.

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_Faster, faster…_ he thought as he saw the ground race beneath him. The rider could see the Varden camps getting closer by the second… _finally!_ Eragon jumped off the dragon and ran toward Nasuada's command tent. He still had a little time left. He put on an extra burst of speed.

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Arya raised one of her eyebrows. The woman's face was surprisingly fair. Beside her unhealthily pale skin that spoke of too many days away from the sun, her beauty could rival an elf maiden. She had flowing raven black hair that reached her waist. Shaking away the stray thoughts, Arya spoke in a cold voice. "Tell me everything you know, assassin." The sorceress remained silent, ignoring the sword that had already scratched a thin mark on her throat. Gritting her teeth, the elf assaulted the magician's mind.

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He could already see the command tent in the distance. A man was about to enter it. Doubling his speed, he rushed into the tent almost immediately after the person went through the tent flap. "Eragon? Why are you back so soon?" asked Nasuada.

Eragon didn't answer. He saw a silvery gleam suddenly appear in front of his him. "Letta!" He barked. Eragon knew where the gleam came from.

It was a thrown dagger.

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Sorry if you get confused by the mixed up parts up the story. I had trouble linking the same parts of the story up, so I had to jump from character to character to make the entire story readable.

Read and review! Reviewing is very important! Don't make me threaten Arya again! Heheheheh… ouch! Arya, it was only a joke!


	9. Chapter 9

Well, I think I'm losing my "touch" a bit. When I read some previous chapters of my story, it seems a lot like blabbering to me. What does everyone think?

And anyway, thanks for all the views on Murtagh! I have made my decision. But I won't tell anyone lest I spoil the surprise.

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To Eragon's surprise, the blade did not stop. It simply swerved around as if it hit some unseen object, and headed straight towards Eragon.

The rider cursed as the dagger struck him in the shoulder. With a snarl, he pulled it out, and looked up at the other man in the tent.

It was Fredric, the weapons master.

"You traitor!" hissed Eragon. But Fredric said nothing. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was twisted with…fear? Pain? The weapon master reached for his giant sword strapped to his back and pulled it out with a small grunt. In a swift move, he swept the blade towards Eragon's feet. The rider leapt over the broadsword and unsheathed his own blade, bringing it down on Fredric's head. The weapons master blocked the blow faster than Eragon thought was possible, then kicked him in the stomach.

The pain was great, but there seemed to be no lasting harm. _Damn my lost arm!_ Screamed Eragon in his mind as he leaned to the left to avoid a blow. He could now no longer parry the heavier attacks that came from the enemy, having to use one arm to block the power of two hands. And he could not send out a strike with too much strength lest he unbalance himself. Normally, it would have not been a problem, but strangely, the weapons master seemed much stronger than usual. He moved with almost the speed of an elf, and his blows were extremely strong. There were magical wards around him to protect him from spells, but Eragon could not trace the caster. It was as if some sorcerer or sorcerers were secretly strengthening the slashes Fredric made. Nasuada was crouching in the corner with her dagger in hand and with fear in her eyes, watching the two men duel. It was incredibly fast, but almost completely silent, as Eragon did not want to seek a direct contest of strength with his enemy and avoided the clashing of blades as much as possible. All could be heard was the panting of the two enemies, and the whistling as the swords cut through the air.

_Now, with my arm gone, my only advantage is speed…_ Eragon thought with a grim smile. He took a deep breath and struck three blows in quick succession, faster than the striking of a serpent.

The first thrust, Fredric blocked. The second strike caught the weapons master in the wrist, sending his broadsword flying into Nasuada's desk. The third slash severed his windpipe. With a gurgle, he collapsed.

Eragon immediately reached into the dying embers of Fredric's mind. There should be someone in there… and there was. Just before the weapons master's death, the rider could feel a presence slide swiftly out of the body. Eragon could almost hear a curse muttered by the assassin.

"He was controlled by a skilled magician!" shouted Eragon to Nasauda. The Varden's leader was still frozen in the corner. People were gathering outside the tent. "I will stay until the Varden reach Surda. It is too dangerous for you to go unguarded."

With that, he walked out of the tent without glancing back.

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_The assassination was well planned. If I had not reached the tent in time, Nasuada would have been killed._

_You are right, little one. I just hope that the elven spell casters arrive as soon as possible to guarantee her safety._

_As do I._

Eragon leaned back against Saphira's body. _I'm just sorry that Fredric had to be slain._

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Okay, so now you know the guy was Fredric. But Eragon still doesn't know who the real bad guy is…and I won't tell him.


	10. Chapter 10

Ah, I'm back. Anyway, I'm almost updating daily (no, actually I _am_ updating daily), so please review to show your gratitude!

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Eragon leaned back on the saddle. Two relentless days of marching and they weren't even in sight of Aberon yet. And he couldn't even ride on Saphira. To protect Nasuada, he had to ride alongside her, and it was a dull experience.

Eragon sighed. The loss of his left arm was nearly driving him mad. Things that were once simple now required the help of magic to complete.

Arya was still missing. The men he asked told him that the elf was still interrogating the sorceress at the back of the marching army. He placed a few extra wards around Nasuada, and then rode off to find the elven princess. At least he would have something to do.

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Arya rode silently beside the sorceress. The elf had learned much about the member of the Black Hand, and though all of the knowledge was useful, the memories were painful to read. The sorceress, as pale as ever, rode with her, just as quietly.

"Arya svit-kona!" called a voice from the front.

Arya looked up and saw the rider riding up towards her, his empty left sleeve trailing behind him. She stiffened immediately and replied, "Yes, shur'tugal?"

"The men said that you were in the back trying to--" His eyes widened at the sight of the black-cloaked figure next to her. "This isn't… this isn't…"

The sorceress bowed her head slightly and said, "It is, Argetlam."

"This…I…my arm…"

"She is trustworthy. And she is not the one who struck the blow."

"How do you know?"

"I searched through and examined every memory she had. She was bound by vows to capture you. I broke them, for they are not strong. Galbatorix must have thought that caution was unneeded."

"You are sure about this?"

Arya's eyes flashed dangerously. "I am, Shadeslayer."

Eragon's mouth twisted into a grim smile. "As you wish, my lady." Steering his horse away from the two women, he rode away without another word.

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Night had again fallen on Aberon.

Eragon, wrapped in a gray cloak to conceal who he was, walked down the now nearly empty streets and stepped into the nearest inn. He let the sounds of laughter and conversation wash over him before he picked a chair and ordered something to drink, something to let him forget about the things that happened in the day.

A man with a scar on his face suddenly appeared in front of Eragon. "Yous," The man said in a loud voice, "are sitting in my chair."

Eragon raised his eyebrows. "Well, good sir, I am sorry to have caused you inconvenience." The rider replied. He stood up and moved to another chair near the window.

The man sneered. "Do you fink that that would be enough? Wipe your filth off my chair right now. And hand me another twenty crowns to pay for m' time ya wasted." The man was clearly drunk; his hair was a mess, and his speech was slurred so much that it was almost impossible to know what he was saying. Eragon felt the anger in him rising. His hand unconsciously reached for his sword.

The scarred man noticed the movement and drew his own blade. "Ya wanna fight? I've been trained by some of the greatest swordsmen of all time! Since twelve I've learned how to hold a blade! None can stop me!" No one seemed to have noticed the argument between the two men. Maybe it was a thing that happened all the time.

Eragon looked at the blade and smiled. He had seen this sword many times, and hated it once.

"Nice try, Vanir."

The man grinned. His features suddenly angled, and the ears suddenly narrowed to thin points. After a few seconds, Vanir stripped himself of the illusion spell and sat down in front of Eragon. "I thought that a small trick would make you smile again, Shadeslayer."

"It certainly did. Why are you here?"

"I am one of the magic users chosen to come to the Varden. Needless to say, I was honored."

"How did you know where to find me?"

Vanir gave a mysterious smile. "A good magician can smell depression from leagues away. Your mind was filled with it."

Eragon groaned. He was clearly not guarding his mind well, due to recent events. "Then you know about my arm then?"

"Of course. I am sorry about it." Vanir leaned back in his chair. "I admit, I was a bit angry at you at first… but I know that no one can escape fate."

Eragon nodded his head wearily. It was a thing that he was getting to know well. _Fate_.

"So tell me, Argetlam: What has happened to you during the past few days?"

Slowly, Eragon started to tell him about the encounter in the woods, the assassination, and finally, the conversation with Arya.

Vanir grinned slightly when he finished. "Ah… I see that Arya has not changed in the years. Always cold… and always stubborn."

"You know her?"

"She is my…what do you humans call it? Ah, cousin. But for most of the time, she was just my sparring partner."

"Then you are of royalty, then!"

Vanir grimaced and shifted a bit on his chair. "I told you, she was only my sparring partner for most of the time. She used to stop by the sparring fields during her stops at Ellesmera. She would challenge me, we would duel, she would win, and the next day she would be gone from the city."

"I have dueled with her once, but I knew even at that time that she was going easy on me. What is she really like?"

Vanir started stroking his sword. "Her style…it is hard to explain. Ah, yes. She is like a needle encased in cotton. A weak defense at first sight, but the more your hand presses, the harder it seems to press even more, and when you press hard enough… she lashes out at your weakness. The needle pricks your hand."

Eragon smiled. "Clever."

"Indeed."

The rider and elf talked late into the night. And when they parted, it was already dawn.

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Wow, the longest chapter I have ever typed.

Please, I need the names of the dragon and the human… I need to use them in… maybe the NEXT CHAPTER! This is urgent!


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, unlike most stories, I've decided to put Vanir in to be one of the main characters. I like him somehow.

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_Lady Nasuada:_

_Roran and I will be going to Helgrind to rescue Katrina by the time you read this note. Vanir and Arya have offered to go with us. The rest of the elven spell casters I have placed under your command._

_Eragon Shadeslayer_

Nasuada let out a frustrated sigh. There was no trying to control the actions of riders.

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Saphira soared of the parched lands of Surda. Eragon, clothed in grey, was seated on the dragon's back.

He looked back at Roran, who was seated behind him. "All right, brother?" He yelled over the howling wind.

"I've been better." Roran's face was chalky white.

Eragon grinned. He looked down and saw the two small figures, Arya and Vanir, running swiftly beneath him. _Still there._

Night was coming swiftly. The last rays of the sun were disappearing over the horizon.

_Saphira, we need to set a camp for the night._

_Aye, little one._

Roran yelped as Saphira started to descend. Eragon laughed. He could hear Saphira sniggering in her mind.

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"Roran, keep your knees bent. You sometimes throw yourself off balance when you deliver a particularly fierce blow. Try it again."

Several whacking sounds of wood striking wood sounded through the camp. "Very good." Eragon picked up a spare sword from one of his packs and tossed it to Roran. "Now, try to use this."

Roran looked at his sword, and felt the edge of the blade. It was razor sharp. "We could kill each other."

"We won't. Trust me."

Vanir, who was watching the lesson with amusement, chuckled. "Roran-finiarel, what your cousin means is that you wouldn't even have a chance to touch him."

Roran growled and spun the sword around, slashing at Eragon. Eragon took a few steps to the right and in a swift move, placed his sword under Roran's chin. "You exposed too big a flaw in your defenses. You will have to work on that. But I think that this is enough for tonight." The rider sat down on the ground and grimaced.

_Saphira, Roran is an extremely good fighter for a human, but I fear he wouldn't last ten seconds against the Ra'zac._

_Ten seconds would be enough time for you or the elves to save him._

_Maybe._

Saphira, who was curled up in the corner of the camp, yawned. _Stop worrying. The elves and you would be more than a match for the Ra'zac._

_I hope you're right._

Arya came before Eragon and drew her sword. "Eragon Shadeslayer. Would you give me the pleasure of sparring with you? I have heard from a certain elf…" She motioned towards Vanir, who was lying against a tree, "that your skills are extraordinary."

The rider stood up and glared at Vanir. Vanir shrugged and smiled slightly. Eragon nodded, drew his sword and blocked it with magic. Arya did likewise. They stood there, facing each other, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Eragon suddenly spun his sword around with the fastest speed and slashed at Arya's throat. Arya blocked the blow, and attacked his left side, where his defenses were the weakest due to his lost arm. The rider leaned away to the right and thrusted his blade at the elf.

It was an amazing battle. Roran looked over to the dueling pair, slack-jawed, and Vanir was no longer smiling but was watching the fight intently. Eragon clearly had the upper hand, but from Vanir's experience, that was only how it looked.

An hour later, the two duelists were still fighting, with no visible sign of strain. They were as fast as ever, swords moving quicker than the eye could follow. Roran was still staring at the pair with his mouth open. Vanir chuckled. This was the time when the elven princess would begin to fight back, if he remembered correctly.

He was right. Little by little, the female elf began to force Eragon backwards. In a final act of desperation, the rider struck three blows at the elf, using the same technique he used to slay Fredric.

Arya blocked the three attacks easily, and she spun to the side and lifted the sword up to Eragon's chin.

But without warning, the empty sleeve of Eragon cracked like a whip and wrapped itself around Arya's sword. With a swift pull, the sword went flying out of her hand and sank into the trunk of a tree.

Roran blinked. Eragon had his sword at Arya's throat.

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Heh… This is one of the few chapters that Eragon doesn't get hurt in! Anyway, please review!


	12. Chapter 12

Okay, in a few more chapters you'll know why I named my story _Shadow Rider. _Anyway, the review count is making towards fifty! I thank all you guys out there!

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Eragon slowly put down his sword. He was panting heavily, and huge beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. Arya, however, looked almost the same as before the duel. But the expression on her face was strange, as if she didn't know how to react.

Vanir clapped his hands and laughed. "A bold move, Shadeslayer! Certainly unexpected." He gave Eragon a broad smile. "But you have to realize that what you relied on was trickery, the element of surprise. In a real duel of true swordsmanship, you would have lost."

Arya shook her head. "Trickery is part of the way of sparring. Eragon defeated me fairly." She looked over to Eragon, who was leaning against a tree, worn out from the fight. "Something that people have failed to do in fifty years."

Eragon bowed his head, not knowing what to say.

Roran was still dumbstruck. Vanir walked over to his pack and took out a black cloak. "We all need some sleep. I'll take first watch." Wrapping the cloak around him, he leapt onto a thick branch with elven grace, and then stood there, watching the area around the camp.

Eragon went to the edge of the clearing and pulled out the sword embedded in the wood with a grunt. He turned around and handed Arya the sword with a quietly murmured apology.

The elf fingered the sword, and then reached out a hand to stroke Eragon's cheek. "You have grown much stronger than the boy I first met in Gil'ead. You are destined to greatness." She leapt up into another tree and sat down on one of its branches. The branches swayed in the wind.

Eragon stood frozen in the clearing for what seemed like hours. After a while, he walked over to Saphira and sat down against her.

_Had fun?_ Asked the dragon smugly.

_Yes. No! I mean the duel, not the… not the…_

The sapphire dragon lowered her wing on him and laughed silently._ O mighty rider, stuttering because of a touch of a finger._

_Shut up._

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The next morning was bright and sunny. _Perfect._

Eragon watched as Saphira took off, now with Arya and Roran on her back. He gestured to Vanir, and the two ran after the dragon as well.

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The group arrived at Helgrind near dusk. Eragon cursed. He had been hoping that they could assault the Ra'zac during the daytime, as light was the foe of their enemy. Now, they had to wait another night.

_Patience, little one._

_I know… It is just frustrating that I now have the power to destroy them… and yet I must stay here, waiting for tomorrow._

_You already have them in your grasp. A day does not matter._

_Indeed. Do you know where the entrance is?_

_No. But considering the lethrblaka, the door should be somewhere near the top. Possibly concealed by a spell._

_This whole thing may be a trap. No matter. I will jump into it and kill anything that attempts to capture me._

Saphira laughed and curled around her rider.

_Sleep now, Saphira. I will take first watch._

The dragon hummed contently before falling into deep sleep.

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Sorry if it seems a bit rushed. I'm nearly yawning my head off, and I want to go to bed. But I won't forget the one all-important message: Read and review!


	13. Chapter 13

Gasp! The review count is over fifty! I'm so…so…happy! Thanks! Anyhow, I've been seeing a lot of "where is Murtagh?" in my reviews. Don't worry; he'll come soon… cloaked in great evil powerfulness!

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Roran and Saphira watched the rider and the two elves disappear from sight into the woods. They were the group that would go inside Helgrind and make the rescue. Saphira sniffed.

_Stop worrying. They will be fine._

_Yes, I know, but…I just wish that I were with them._

_You know that it would be impossible. You fight excellently, but you lack proper training and experience._

_Experience? I've lead our entire village--_

_That is leadership, and I do admire that part of you. But I remember from your story that you have killed less than twenty men in your whole life. Not nearly enough. And you might as well also remember that I can't fight either, as I am too large and would be seen by the whole city of Dras-leona._

Roran sighed, and looked up at the bright skies above.

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Climbing Helgind with one arm was not easy, but Eragon could manage. He leapt from ledge to ledge, his fingers finding tiny cracks or dents in the smooth black stone to hoist himself up. Above him, Vanir and Arya were managing slightly better.

They had sensed a magical barrier near the top of the mountain that seemed to be an illusion spell. But it was poorly crafted, and a master could sense it easily. Thus, they had begun to climb.

They were all wearing black cloaks that melded perfectly with the rock underneath, hiding them from enemy eyes. Only the most observant could see them. And few humans are observant.

Finally, after a long while, they reached the entrance. It was already noon, and the sun shone with fiery light.

"Now that we have reached the top, we will have to destroy the illusion spell to find the opening." Said Vanir, inclining his head.

"The spell is fairly simple and hastily made. I can break it." Eragon crouched down and muttered eight words of power. He reached into what seemed to be hard stone and literally tore the illusion down, the remains of the spell fluttering like torn pieces of parchment before vanishing.

"Good." Vanir sniffed the air. "Strange… the illusion seems to have been cast recently." He shrugged and followed the others into the dark gaping hole in the rock.

The tunnel was dark and filled with the stench of rotted flesh. Drops of dirty water dripped down from the ceiling, making the place damp, and cold. Cells lined the walls, and through the bars, Eragon could see the bones of men dead ages past. He fought the impulse to shiver. The rider drew his sword and looked around. Still no one. The Ra'zac should be here somewhere…

Then suddenly, a sharp point of cold metal touched the back of his neck. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the Arya, who was beside him. Instead of the sinister hiss of the Ra'zac, he heard a cold voice he had been dreading since the Battle of the Burning Plains.

"Hello, brother…" Murtagh whispered in Eragon's ear.

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See? I told you he'd come soon. Reviews, please!


	14. Chapter 14

"You!" hissed Eragon. Murtagh had Zar'roc at Eragon's neck and had a small dagger at Arya's. Vanir, who originally was in front of Eragon, whirled around and whipped out his sword at the sound of Murtagh's voice.

"Yes, me. Now, would the two of you kindly drop your weapons? The same goes for you, master elf."

Vanir ground his teeth and dropped his blade on the ground with a _clang_. Eragon did so too, and Arya followed.

"I've been waiting here for a long time. Wondering if you'd show up." Murtagh said in a soft voice.

"Galbatorix ordered you to come here?" asked Eragon, through clenched teeth.

"Heavens, no! He simply said: Go find Eragon Shadeslayer, capture him alive, and bring him back to me. He was very… displeased at the last time I showed you mercy, and he was harsh in his punishments." Murtagh suddenly stopped, then continued, "I knew you would come to seek revenge and attempt to rescue your cousin's Katrina, so here I came. Yes, I know her name. During my time here, I searched through her memories, and turned up anything I could use. Now, would you all remove your cloaks and let me see if there is anything dangerous under it?"

Wordlessly, they unclasped their cloaks and let them fall to the ground.

Murtagh suddenly cursed, seeing the empty sleeve. "By the gods, Eragon, what happened to your arm?" Undisguised concern flowed from the words, and the blade on Eragon's neck lifted up a fraction. That was all the rider needed. With a cry, Eragon pulled out his hunting knife from his boot and drove the blade directly at Murtagh's stomach. Swearing, Murtagh backed off a few steps. The elves picked up their swords, and with amazing speed, leapt at the red rider.

The duel was nothing like anything Eragon had seen before. The rider and the two elves circled around Murtagh, each using the most complicated methods they could think of to defeat him; and yet, Murtagh blocked their lightening fast blows easily, weaving a web of steel around him with Zar'roc until it seemed as if he was encased in an crimson, iron shell. But try as he might, he could not break out of the circle.

Eragon took most of Murtagh's attacks first, having sparred with him for a long time, and he knew the style of his swordsmanship best. But he was tiring rapidly, blocking the heavy blows with his one arm over and over again. Soon, Arya was the one who took the brunt of Murtagh's blows. Eragon and Vanir still circled around Murtagh, attacking when chance came and a tiny hole appeared in the defenses of the red rider. They would lunge at it, only to have their swords battered away.

Soon, Arya was backing away from the red rider. She could not hold for long, and in a short time, the circle would be broken.

_Eragon!_

_Saphira?_

_Ra'zac…Thorn… lethrblaka… attacking us… can't fight for long…a wing injured already…_

Eragon cursed. It had been a trap after all. Murtagh on the inside, the Ra'zac and his dragon on the outside.

_Arya! Vanir!_

_Yes, Shadeslayer? _Replied Vanir. Arya didn't answer. She was still trying to guard herself from Murtagh's sword. Vanir was attacking warily from behind.

_You two get out of this godforsaken place and go help Roran and Saphira. They are being attacked. I will try to hold him off as long as possible._

_Impossible! You will get killed, Shadeslayer! And I refuse to leave you!_

_Go, Vanir. He will not kill me. His orders were to bring me to his master _alive_. And magic cannot be used in this hole, though I do not know why._

It was true; Vanir felt his touch on magic leave him as soon as he had set foot into Helgrind. The rest of the group felt it as well, though none remarked on it. It was as if a dark, strong magical force was in the mountain, blotting out anything else that was held magic.

_It is too dangerous._

_You two will both die if you stay here with me! Go and save Saphira and my cousin! I will try to escape from him later._

_But…you stand no chance alone. If we stood together--_

_We would die together. Stop arguing! Leave now before I force you two out!_

Vanir sighed. _As you wish. But I swear that we will get you out once your dragon is safe._

On some unspoken signal, Arya and Vanir leapt back from Murtagh. They touched Eragon's mind and gave him some of their remaining power before they rushed up the tunnel.

_Stay safe, Eragon._

_I will, Arya._

Murtagh watched the retreating elves with amusement. "I assume that you told them to leave? Always the hero, Eragon."

"Say what you will, Murtagh."

"Then tell me: What happened to your arm? It was fine when we met a week ago."

"It was dying of shame after it learned that you were my brother. I had to cut it off, put it out of its misery."

The two brothers circled each other, swords in hand.

"I think not. Someone cut it off, but not you."

"You know nothing about it."

"Actually, I do know something about severed body parts." Murtagh raised up his left hand for Eragon to see. The ring finger was missing. "One failure, one digit." Muttered Murtagh. "Galbatorix's own words. And he never lies, in a sense."

Eragon was shocked. He quickly composed himself and continued to watch Murtagh, watching for anything that might betray the red rider's actions.

Suddenly, with no warning at all, Zar'roc lashed out at him. Eragon leaned away from the blow just in time, and struck out at Murtagh's throat. Murtagh parried the blow with a twirl of the sword and began attacking Eragon, each blow faster and stronger than the last. Slowly backing away, Eragon found out that they were going deeper and deeper into Helgrind, and it was getting darker.

Eragon struggled to defend himself. His brother was so fast, and so strong. The only reason he was still fighting was the same as the one that kept him from dying when he faced the seven sorcerers: Murtagh wanted him alive. The red rider could not possibly kill his brother, even with a slightly miscalculated slash. The vows bound him tightly.

Eragon could now no longer hold his sword properly. What magical force there was in Helgrind had cut off the connection with his dragon as well. He was alone. With a slight twist of Zar'roc, Murtagh rapped Eragon's wrist and the rider's blade flew out of his hands. Eragon fell to the floor on his knees, breathing labored, numerous places on his body dripping blood.

"Now, now, there is no need to kneel before me." Murtagh reached out an arm and prepared to pull the younger rider up from the ground. But all he felt was thin air.

_Not again…_ thought Murtagh, his face paling. _It can't be…_

Eragon had disappeared.

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Read and review! The longest chapter I have ever typed!(for now)

P.S. It might be a while before I do my next chapter. I have to organize my original plotline, as some parts don't fit and some aren't logical. Don't worry, I won't change any of the previous chapters.


	15. Chapter 15

_What happened?_

The last thing he remembered was kneeling on the ground… then the hard stone beneath him suddenly became as soft as mud… he sank through it, falling…falling… onto the hard rocks below.

Eragon grimaced and sat up. One of his legs hurt horribly, possibly broken in the fall, and several of his ribs were snapped. _Why am I here? _He moved again slightly, then nearly passed out from the pain. More than bones were harmed in the fall. Blood flowed out of Eragon's wounds.

Then the rider saw a figure chained to the wall next to him. The man had long hair the color of blood, and an extremely pale face. His eyes were a fierce maroon. The man smiled, showing pointed teeth. "Welcome to my home, Eragon Shadeslayer! Though I daresay that it isn't much for a rider like you." Pure darkness emanated from the man, and the power that he held inside him was extremely great, greater than anything Eragon had ever seen.

Eragon, breathing heavily, backed off from the man —no, _shade_— and looked around him. They were in a small stone cavern, completely cut off from the outside world. "Who are you? How did I get in here?"

"My name is one thing that no one in Alagaesia knows, and I intend to let it stay that way. However, you may call me Xanzarath." Xanzarath licked his upper teeth. "I caused you to fall in."

"Why? You want to kill me?" Eragon suddenly felt a wave of pain and dizziness strike him.

The shade laughed. "O mighty shadeslayer and rider, do you really think that I would be capable of doing that? You can sense my power, but I can't use it. Likewise, you can see my limbs, but I cannot even move them even a fraction. Do you know how long I have gathered shreds of magic over the years to cast that simple spell for you to join me? More than a century. But that is not the point. So you really cannot see what is wrong with me?"

"Why?" Eragon was struggling to keep conscious. His injuries and the loss of blood were slowly killing him.

"Can't you see? The elves have not taught you well, then."

"How did you know about the elves? I—? "

"There are far more effective ways to know one's secrets than forcing oneself into one's mind by force."

"What the--?"

Xanzarath smiled slightly. "Every bone in my limbs have been crushed into mere dust, rider. Galbatorix did it himself, and he created a dark spell that destroyed my ability to use magic. Yes, he was afraid of me… for he knew I had far more knowledge in the dark magicks than him. He knew that fact well, for I taught him once."

"You what?!" Then Eragon remembered, through his agony; in a night that seemed centuries ago, Brom, in the middle of his story telling at Carvahall, had said, "_With persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a shade, he inflamed the Rider against their elders."_ Galbatorix had learned forbidden arts from a shade, and that was what made him so powerful in the war against the riders. And now, the shade was sitting in front of him, chained to the wall.

"Impossible…" whispered Eragon.

"Why? It is not coincidence that you happened to meet me, rider. Fate began to play you into my hands long before you were born."

Eragon was now breathing slower, and he fought to keep awake.

Xanzarath suddenly raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. "Solemblum told you to come to me?"

"What…I…don't…"

"I am the keeper of the _Vault of Souls_, Eragon. The last in line of the Kuthian family."

"How did…how did…"

"How did I know? By looking into your mind. Well fortified for a normal person, but there are always holes I can go into."

"I…I…"

"I can help you, you know. Save you from all that pain. Save you from death."

"Magic cannot be used here…"

"_I _am the cause of your loss of magic, rider. You may have noticed that your feel of magic seems weakest now that you are with me?"

Eragon didn't answer. He was barely awake now.

"Say your name to me, rider. Say your true name. Listen to the werecat. You were looking for me; I was looking for you. Say your name, and both of our wishes would be fulfilled. I would have my vengeance on that foul king."

"Say it."urged the Shade. "Say it."

Suddenly, everything became a blur to Eragon. The things he saw slid out of focus. The voice of Xanzarath became an echoing sound. A power rose up in Eragon, burning from within. The strength flowed into his veins, melding with him, joining with him, becoming him… And he screamed out one word.

_Brisingr!_

The cavern erupted in flames. Xanzarath was still chained to the wall, but the fires did not harm him. The shade had the look of absolute shock on his face.

Then, the shade began to laugh.

Eragon felt a dark power pouring into him. The pain was greater than anything he had ever imagined.

He passed out. The last thing he heard was the laughter of the shade.

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More Murtagh chapters coming up! And review!


	16. Chapter 16

Murtagh cursed. _Where the hell did he go?_ He couldn't of slipped passed him to the entrance… Eragon must have gone even further in. _Somehow._

On he ran, into the darkness of the mountain. He could barely see anything now. _Where is he?_ He noticed a large iron door at the end of the tunnel. _There?_ He raised his foot and kicked the door hard. It bended a little, but didn't yield. He slammed into the door again. And again.

By now Murtagh was beginning to doubt that Eragon had gone this way at all. But he decided to hold on to his previous decision and with a hard kick, he broke the hinges holding the door in place. He walked into the room with his sword out, looking around his him. Then his eyes fell on something that simply shouldn't have been there.

---------

Vanir was nearly out of breath. He was dueling with the two Ra'zac, and though normally he could have killed them in the hot noon sun, the fight with the red rider had exhausted him. They had already cut one of his legs, and he was having trouble standing. He looked up for a brief second. Arya was atop Saphira, helping the dragon fight against the lethrblaka and Thorn with her elven bow. Magic was next to useless to the elves, for Murtagh had put powerful wards on all their enemies that deflected spells or enchantments.

Roran was kneeling on the ground with a hand pressed against his shoulder, breathing heavily. A Ra'zac had marked him there with a knife that was most certainly covered with Seithr oil.

Pushing the stray thoughts out of his mind, Vanir again swept his sword at the Ra'zac. The deformed beings leapt away from his blade, hissing, and one pulled out a small dagger and threw it at the elf. Vanir ducked under it, raised his right hand and plucked it from the air, careful to hold it by its hilt only. With unerring aim, he flung the blade at the shorter Ra'zac.

The dagger met its mark. The body fell to the ground with a thump, and the remaining Ra'zac screeched before Vanir drove his sword into its heart. Panting, he sheathed his sword and ran to Roran.

Roran was faring badly. The vile poison was in his veins, and his body was tainted. Drawing a deep breath, Vanir put a hand on his chest and muttered, "Waíse heill!"

The spell siphoned off the elf's power faster than he expected. Vanir stiffened, and tried to draw his power back. But it was no use. He just had to wait.

---------------

Murtagh stared at the green egg on the small pedestal. _I thought it was in the palace! What in __Alagaesia is it doing here? _Then he remembered the king's favorite method of deception.

_Tell them nothing, and let them think the way you want them to._

So all the guards, all the spells, the blocking off of seven hallways, the specially made _cverde_-wrought box, were all just a lie? He had seen Galbatorix issue orders to strengthen the security around the egg only a few months before. The king seemed a little worried at the time, pacing around restlessly, going to his room early; was that all an act? Was the egg in the palace only a decoy?

After looking over his shoulder, he returned his eyes to the egg. It looked exactly the same as Thorn's, only a different color. Murtagh hesitated. He could gain much by stealing the egg; yet, he could lose a lot more. _What should I do?_

He picked up the egg and hid it under his cloak.

------------

Roran groaned. _What happened? _Then he saw Vanir slumped next to him, pale faced, and with his eyes closed. Frantically, Roran put a finger on the elf's wrist and began to check for a pulse. Yes… there was a pulse; he was sure of it. Slow, but still strong.

Roran looked up above him. The lethrblaka were dead, their charred remains lying not thirty feet from him. But he noticed that though Arya was still on Saphira's saddle, she wasn't moving. Saphira was battling the red dragon, but both seemed more than weary. Moments later, on unspoken agreement, the two dragons pulled away from the fight and flew for a few seconds before crashing into the ground.

Roran hurried over to the sapphire dragon. She seemed barely alive. Roran touched Saphira's mind and passed on some of his energy to her, as Eragon had taught him once. Soon, the dragon was breathing easier, though she could still barely stand. Roran knew that his strength was insignificant compared to her, but he helped as much as he could, pouring his power into her. He noticed the numerous wounds on Saphira. _If only I could use magic…_

_----------------_

Murtagh smiled grimly. His actions would change the fate of many people. As he turned to leave the room, a familiar but never welcomed mind touched his. The rider nearly screamed.

_Murtagh…_

Murtagh drew a shuddering breath and answered. _Master…_

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Eragon's story will come later. In the meanwhile… review!


	17. Chapter 17

Eragon groaned. _What happened?_ He smiled bitterly. Waking up without knowing how he passed out was turning into a normal occurrence. Sitting up, he ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. He barely remembered anything.

Then he stiffened. His hand suddenly stopped in its movement. Shaking, he touched his hair again. It was now shoulder length. "Brisingr!" he screamed. A thin flame burst from his fingertips, forming into a small ball of fire that rose above him, revealing pale white fingers.

"No…" he whispered.

Eragon, with trembling fingers, brought a few strands of his hair to his eyes. They were blood red in color, a brilliant crimson like Zar'roc. "No… no…"

Then he remembered the shade.

"You!" the rider screamed, whipping out his sword. "What have you done to me?"

The shade was slumped in his chains, barely moving. "Something that you will be grateful of one day." He whispered.

"I doubt that, filth." Eragon kicked the shade in the side. To his surprise, he heard the sound of bones cracking.

"Do what you want, rider… The only reason… that I survived for so long was because… I was in touch with the power of the Vault… of Souls, now in your possession. It fed me with power, kept me alive; and now, once it has left me, I will die. A death that I have been… wishing for, for more than a hundred years." The shade was still smiling slightly, only now, it held bitterness.

Eragon hissed with rage. "Once a body is destroyed, so is the soul. There is no way a soul can live alone."

"Indeed… but the Vault carries the very power of the world, the very strength and magic that holds the land. The spirits. I trust… that your master had told you about the binding of the Ancient… language with magic? The catastrophic spell that once threatened… to tear apart the whole world? The spell that once almost killed every creature in the lands? Do you know the casters?" Xanzarath smiled. "The casters were the elves."

"What does that have to do with this?" Eragon placed his sword under Xanzarath's chin. The sword was shaking slightly, carving a thin wound on the shade's throat.

"Everything. The elves were young and… naïve at the time, and not as cautious as they are… at this day. Do you know what they did? In search… of greater power, they opened the natural Vault of Souls, causing almost utter… destruction. It took the Grey Folk centuries to return the world… to balance, binding the most powerful spirits in a magical Vault. In their rage, they banished… the elves from their land of Alalea."

Eragon was silent.

"The Vault was put… into the possession of the most powerful family… of the Grey Folk at the time: The Kuthians. But as time… passed, wars and kingdoms came and went, and after… many moons, the Kuthians were only a… shadow of their former glory. The story of the Vault was long… since forsaken, and the power of the Vault was not great in the land of Alalea, as the Kuthians carrying the Vault had to swear an oath… to never use the Vault's powers on destroying in the world. It was a wise thing, as a power hungry… carrier of the Vault would have been nigh impossible to stop."

"Soon, after many battles, the Kuthians were banished to Alagaesia, just as the elves had been so long ago. Grim, tired from the bloodshed, we—for I was the carrier—settled down. Then after many years… I was the only one left…kept alive by the power inside my body. It would of gone on like that… if that cursed rider hadn't stumbled into my house."

"Galbatorix was… a charming person to all people, I believe, on first sight. He was lonely, distraught from his losses, so similar… to myself in my youth; so I befriended him, trusted him, and taught him much… that I knew, even the way to draw on the power of the Vault that was inside me. He gradually became stronger… throughout the years, drinking in all that dark power… and _storing it inside him_. His way of strengthening was slow, but limitless. My strength… was limited to the power of the Vault, strong as it is; but his power… could be drawn for eternity."

Eragon nodded slowly.

"On one night, he stabbed me in… the dark. Yes, he was not as strong as me at the time; but he had the element… of surprise. He charged the blade with dark magicks, and the spell broke me. He then crushed my limbs… to dust, and threw me into this cavern so I would be no… more of a threat to him. I wasn't. I trusted him completely. But Galbatorix… trusts no one." The shade was getting paler by the second.

Xanzarath looked at the small orb of fire that was floating above them. "_Brisingr…_A strange name indeed."

"My name cannot be _brisingr_. It is the name of fire, not me." Said Eragon through gritted teeth.

"Ahh… but what is fire? A thing that gives… out warmth and light to those that near it? A thing that… burns? Destroys? A thing that… has no absolute ally and has no absolute foe? A fire can be many things, Shadeslayer, and many things are fire."

"It cannot be."

"And yet it is. Many things are… changing, rider. And do not forget that you are bound to my will, even after my death."

Eragon took a step back. "What do you want?" he snarled.

The shade looked up one last time. "Revenge on Galbatorix."

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Eragon's sure having a bad week. Anyway… wow, the review count is over 80! I love you guys! Thank you all for your support!


	18. Chapter 18

The voice of Galbatorix was cold. _Return to Uru'baen at once, my rider. Do not delay._

_Yes, master._

_Your voice is trembling. What is wrong?_

_You startled me, your majesty._

The king laughed before severing the link.

Murtagh wiped the sweat off his forehead. He had been careful to hide the memories of his recent theft. Strapping up the egg securely, he started walking out of Helgrind.

------------------------------

Vanir awoke to find himself in a hastily made bed. Roran was slumped beside Saphira. _So Roran lived._

Looking beside him, he saw Arya lying beside him with her head bandaged. Vanir smiled. It was plain to anyone that Shadeslayer was attracted to her…then he remembered and sat bolt upright.

Eragon Shadeslayer.

Cursing, he belted on his sword and ran towards Helgrind. The red rider was gone, for some unknown reason. He had left them. And only two possible reason made sense. Running even faster, he hurried towards the mountain.

-------------------

Eragon stood motionless in the dark cavern. Xanzarath had died. The rider gave the body a hard kick before returning his gaze to the walls. There was no way out. _How did Galbatorix imprison Xanzarath here? There is no entrance._

A moment later, he found his answer. A great block of solid granite blocked the exit. There was no way he could move it, even with his newfound powers. Sighing, he turned around, sat down, and began to meditate. But again… the black rock of Helgrind blocked his attempts to feel the world outside. He ground his teeth in frustration.

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Vanir gasped for air as he continued his journey. Roran had moved him quite a long distance from the mountain, and the elf was weak after the battle. Soon, he could not keep up his pace, and began to stop to a slow walk. He tried to contact the rider over and over again, but his efforts were in vain. He couldn't even feel the mind of Eragon. And usually, that meant only one thing.

Eragon was dead.

_It can't be…_ Vanir quickened his footsteps again.

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Eragon felt something stir within him. Something dark and powerful beyond imagination. "What the—"

Then the pain hit him.

It was as if creatures were slowly tearing apart his brain. He screamed. The spirits inside him were rebelling, fighting for control over his body. He clutched his chest and began building walls around his mind, seeking to repel the spirits, but it was no use. The spirits were too powerful. However, Eragon himself had an own share of the Vault's power.

Stabbing back with all his strength, the rider managed to force the spirits away from his mind. But as the siege in his body wore on, he knew that he would lose eventually. _Only one thing left to do._

Reaching for his hunting knife, he stabbed himself in the stomach.

The spirits reeled from the unexpected pain, and were stunned long enough for Eragon to imprison them in a dark corner of his consciousness. For a long while, there was only silence in the cavern. Almost completely silent, except for the dripping of blood.

Snarling, Eragon tore off a portion of his left sleeve and wrapped the wound up. He knew that only luck saved him. He dared not heal his wound with magic, as it was more than possible that the casting of spells roused the spirits. In his rage, he flung his sword at the wall. The blade, much to his own surprise, sank into the black stone.

_What has happened to me?_

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Tragedy lovers, It's gonna get a lot more tragic (for Eragon, anyway.) The others...perhaps I will spare them.


	19. Chapter 19

Man, I'm so goddamned bored so I decided to write another chapter. Quick, more dragon names…female, please. The human name has been taken care of. And no, I'm not telling where the female dragon comes from! It's a surprise!

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Murtagh was thinking on the back of Thorn. _Where shall I put the egg?_ It was far too dangerous for him to carry it with him, and he was uncertain on whether to give it to the Varden.

Suddenly, a small prick of pain interrupted his thoughts. He glanced to his right and saw a small arrow stuck in the red dragon's wing. Two men, hunters by the look of their clothing, were below him, shouting and swearing in fear. Murtagh cursed and reached for his magic.

_Leave them. It was an accident, and Galbatorix told us not to delay. It is naught but a flesh wound._

_Very well._

They continued to fly east toward Uru'baen.

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Eragon was pacing around the small cavern. _How the hell am I supposed to get out of this place!_ Magic was the obvious and only answer. But he dared not use it after the previous incident. The rider sighed and tried to collect his thoughts. And Xanzarath told him that he would be grateful of this…

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Thorn gasped. His strength was rapidly fading. Murtagh touched his mind and asked, _What is wrong?_

_I do not know… I…I…you…hold on…_

Thorn crashed into the trees below.

Murtagh swung off the dragon, unhurt, and swore. _Poison…_ his mind flashed back to the two hunters. He pulled out the arrow out of Thorn's wing and sniffed its tip.

Murtagh's eyes widened. It was a rarely seen poison, but deadly. No amount of magic could force the poison out of the dragon now, and there were thirty-seven different ways the poisoner could mix the same ingredients, creating the same results but having different antidotes. There was practically no way to cure it.

Except finding the poisoner himself.

Wrapping the arrow in cloth, Murtagh ran back to hunt the two hunters.

By the time he reached the spot, the two men were gone. It their place stood a person in a black cloak, holding an ebony staff. "Nice to meet you again, Murtagh."

Murtagh stumbled backwards. "Linasi? I thought you were dead!"

The person took off her hood, revealing a pale, beautiful face framed by raven-black hair. "Yes…I was rather surprised that I got to live."

"But you were the leader of the mission! The Varden wouldn't even think of letting you go!"

"Yes…and no. Believe me, if the soldiers knew it was I who led the small party that severed the arm of Eragon Shadeslayer, they would have killed me instantly."

"So it was you then!"

"You met Eragon?"

"Yes."

Linasi's lips twisted into a small smile. "He was quite angry when he realized that I could live, but he did not show it."

"Why? What gained the trust of Nasuada and the others?"

"The word of a certain elf named Arya. She searched through my memories." Linasi trembled a bit. "It was not an enjoyable experience."

Murtagh's features softened. It was true; the past of the sorceress was terrible. The fates she had faced would be more than enough to convince the elf that she was trustworthy. "Then you are one of the Varden now?"

"Yes. Which brings me to the main reason why I am here." The sorceress pointed her staff at Murtagh. "Defend yourself."

Murtagh looked at the staff. "You wish to duel me?"

"Indeed. For I poisoned your dragon."

Murtagh said nothing, but the cold gleam in his eyes suddenly flared, and he leapt at Linasi. But as he touched the ground, the dirt beneath him gave away and he sank into the trap.

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Don't worry, he won't die. Or maybe he will?


	20. Chapter 20

Eragon stopped pacing around the cavern. He walked over where his sword was stuck in the stone, pulling it out with ease. _I'll die here if I don't think of something!_ But there was only one option: magic. Sighing, the rider reached for it, deciding to take the risk.

An enormous power flooded Eragon's mind, nearly knocking him off his feet. He grinned. The unlimited strength was his to control…and he pointed one finger at the wall.

The cavern wall exploded outwards, the hard black rock flying onto to grass below, and soon Eragon could see the outside of Helgrind. It was day again. His grin faded when he remembered his current state. Snarling, he jumped out of the hole and looked around him. Two people were staring in horror at the rider, their eyes widened in fear.

"Slytha." Murmured Eragon. The two men fell limp on the ground. Unsheathing his sword, he ran to the camp they had set the day before their attempted rescue. There was no sign of them anywhere. Eragon groaned. How long had he been in that small, miserable cavern? Days? Maybe weeks? Perhaps his friends had already thought him dead or captured.

There were signs of a recent fight. He could already see the corpses of the Ra'zac and the lethrblaka. _Then where are they?_ He could feel no signs of human life around him, except the two unfortunate travelers passing Helgrind, who were now snoring in the long grass. _They must have gone back to Surda._ It was plain to see that Katrina was no longer in Helgrind.

The rider sheathed his sword and began to run.

-----------------

Murtagh cried out in surprise as the earth opened up beneath him. In that little moment of distraction, the rider felt a small sharp pain on his right arm and found a small drug dart sticking to the back of his hand before falling on to the soft dirt below.

But not before dragging Linasi down with him.

Murtagh stood up, ignoring the pain in his head. He was slightly surprised by his loss of magic; for few drugs could suppress his power now that his strength was being drawn from the Vault of Souls. The rider drew his sword and put it on the sorceress' throat. "Get me out of here." He growled.

Linasi smiled and a word began to form on her lips, preparing to use a spell. Thinking fast, Murtagh ripped the dart from his hand and rammed it into Linasi's arm. She stiffened, then stumbled backwards, falling onto the ground.

Murtagh looked up the hole. They were in the remains of an old well that had long gone dry. He returned his gaze to the sorceress. "Get me out of this damned place."

The sorceress gave a small laugh. "And to think that I once thought that you were smart, rider. This hole isn't used as a home, or as a place to think. It is a trap, and it is made to make sure that no one escapes. Why would I leave a way for you to go out?"

"Then tell your men to get me out."

"I came alone. The hunters you saw were illusions. Your dragon will die Murtagh, relax. There is nothing you can do about it."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You know my reasons. I hate the Empire, and unfortunately, you are an important part of it."

"We knew each other once. You can't do this to me!"

"Galbatorix knows me as well. How much things has he done to me?"

Murtagh managed to keep his sword-arm steady. "I will kill you if you don't get me out."

"Do your worst, rider. I've had experiences that let death pale in comparison."

Murtagh swore and sheathed his sword. She was right. Death wasn't a threat to her any more. Neither was torture.

Then he thought of the thing strapped under his cloak.

The rider could barely sense his dragon, but he knew that his time was running out. Murtagh pulled out the green egg and brought it in front of Linasi. Her eyes widened.

"This," he said, pointing at the egg, "is the last dragon egg in Galbatorix's possession."

Linasi raised one of her eyebrows. "You wish to bargain?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me why I shouldn't wait until you die because of your dragon's death, and pick up the egg myself."

"Because you know me. And I know you."

Linasi thought for a few seconds.

"Fine. But only because I liked you once, Murtagh."

She clapped her hands and two men dressed up as hunters rushed to the hole and looked down at them.

"Throw down a rope!" she called up. One of the men hurried away.

Murtagh looked at the sorceress. "Illusions?"

The sorceress smiled slightly and put out both of her hands. Slowly, Murtagh put the egg in them. Linasi put the egg in her pack carefully and took out a small vial filled with clear liquid. "Rub this on the arrow wound of your dragon. He may be a little stiff for a few hours, but he will be able to fly in a couple of minutes."

Murtagh took the vial silently, and climbed up the rope that was thrown down.. The sorceress stood below him with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

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Okay, so the Morzansson brothers aren't exactly having a great time in this chapter, but quoting from many of your reviews, "They'll get over it!"


	21. Chapter 21

_Flames were dancing in front of his eyes, changing into many forms. Then the fires cleared and he again saw the vision that he dreaded._

_A red, elegant sword, held by a man with flaming hair and a pale face…the crimson sword flashing in the rain swept battlefield, on a broken tower high above the battling armies…night all around the two fighters, a duel of dark and shadow, the blades whistling through the air …a hoarse scream full of agony, emanating from the man with maroon hair …cold, maniacal laughter, chilling to the bone, loud and cruel…_

Eragon woke up gasping for air. _Where am I?_ He suddenly realized that he was tied in chains, and he was drugged. A number of people stood over him silently.

"Roran?" Eragon whispered, recognizing the familiar face among the group.

Roran wordlessly put a mirror before his eyes.

Eragon was shocked. He knew that his meeting with Xanzarath had changed him much, but he didn't know how. The face in front of him was pale and white, and though marked in many places with blood, it was even more angled than before, causing him to look fairer than the elves. His eyes were a fierce crimson, and a line of black markings ran along the right side of his neck.

"What has happened to you?" a voice whispered.

Eragon looked up and saw Arya watching with sadness in her eyes. It was like a stab to the heart.

"Eragon…do you know what you've just done?" A voice sounded from his right. He turned his head and found Nasuada staring at him with fury in her eyes. "You and Saphira just killed more than a thousand good men of the Varden, and almost burned all our supplies. Do you remember?"

Eragon touched his face slowly. To his horror, none of the blood was his.

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_Damn woman._ Thought Murtagh. He was on Thorn again, flying to Uru' baen.

_She let me live. And don't start cursing her again. It won't work._

Murtagh sat back in the saddle with a sigh. _I hope it would, Thorn. I hope it would._

_-----------------_

"What happened?" The words came out hard. Eragon remembered nothing. Nothing.

"What happened? You just destroyed our hope of winning this war. What will the men think when they see you? What will anyone think when they see you?" Nasuada looked hard into his eyes. "A shade. A shade that deserves to be killed by a thrust through the heart. Tell me Eragon, _what happened to you_?"

Through a shaky voice, he told the story of his encounter with Xanzarath. The faces of those around him grew more sorrowful by each word he said. Only Arya remained expressionless, but her emerald eyes betrayed her grief.

"I don't know what happened on my way to Surda. 'I'm almost to Aberon', I remember thinking. Then suddenly, as I was tiring from the travel, a great pain struck me in the head, exactly like the time in the cavern." Eragon stopped for a moment. "Then all I knew was stumbling through the sand… then blacking out."

Vanir looked stricken. "You traveled from Helgrind to here in only _half a day_?"

Eragon nodded. "I don't know how…it was like my body was bursting with power, and I was running faster and faster."

"Yes…you must have passed us on the way." Arya said quietly. "We assumed that you were captured or killed, for Vanir-vor found no sign of you except your blood, and none could contact you. Saphira was filled with grief. We convinced her to fly us back to Surda to plan our next move. She agreed." Arya shook her head. "We did not know what happened to Saphira on our trip back. She suddenly started shaking with pain…then she flew as fast as she could to Aberon, blocking us out. It was as if she forgot that we were there. Once we reached the walls of the city, she threw us off."

Roran spoke up suddenly. "We got through what remained of the gates. The gates were blasted open, and beyond it, we could see you and Saphira killing the soldiers of the Varden. Then you turned back and saw us. I don't know what happened. You started trembling…then you screamed, and Saphira fell down."

Eragon looked down. "I suppose that my connection with Saphira passed on my…madness… to her as well."

"No one recognized you, Eragon. The ones close enough to see your face were quickly slain by you. But Saphira was recognized at once. The men assume that the shade they saw bewitched Saphira, causing her to lose her mind." Nasuada closed her eyes. "I am currently spreading rumors that the great _Shadeslayer_ killed the shade, and was slain in the process."

Eragon laughed bitterly. He knew it would come to this sooner or later. "Then you want to kill me?"

Nasuada hesitated, and said, "Yes. But most of your friends won't allow it. I agreed with them, but you will have to leave the Varden forever. And there is one last thing you must do."

Eragon sighed. "What?"

"Sever your connection with Saphira."

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Okay, Eragon's having more than just a hard day. And I'm suspicious if he'll ever "get over it."Thanks for all the reviews! It's reaching 100!


	22. Chapter 22

"No. I can't. No." Eragon looked at Nasuada with despair in his eyes. "No. Don't."

"It has to be done, Eragon." Replied Nasuada harshly. "It is for the good of the Varden. Do you know how much damage she wreaked because of your madness? I have already ordered Trianna to construct a spell for the purpose. She has been working on it for more than three days now."

"No, Nasuada. Please. Please don't. I'm alone already." Tears fell out of Eragon's eyes. "I would be alone."

"It has to be done."

Trianna pushed open the wooden doors with a satisfied smile on her face. "It is done, my lady." She said with a bow.

"You are certain?"

"Yes, my lady."

Tears dropped freely from Eragon's eyes, dampening the ground. Arya and Roran looked away, with pain on their faces. Vanir looked shocked.

Trianna took Eragon's right hand in hers. The rider did not struggle. He hung limp in the chains holding him, as though all life had gone out.

Turning the palm upwards, and exposing the silver hand in the dim lamplight, the sorceress took out a long, black knife. Furrowing her brow, Trianna started chanting quiet words in the ancient language, holding her knife above Eragon's palm. The rider moaned in agony.

Soon, the whole room was silent except for the whispering of ancient words. The sorceress mumbled and chanted, weaving the threads of spell work around the rider, as a spider does with its prey. The words of power became louder and louder, and with a piercing shriek, Trianna drove the knife down into Eragon's palm, directly into the gedwëy ignasia.

The scream echoed through the night.

Shaking, Eragon ripped apart the chains and looked at his palm. A black mark was in the center of his hand, and almost all trace of the gedwëy ignasia was gone. He stumbled out of the house and into the starlit courtyard. The rider looked up at the heavens above. He could feel a part of him fading, dying away…

The last thing he remembered was kneeling on the ground, crying into his remaining hand.

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"Eragon? Eragon Shadeslayer?"

Eragon opened his eyes slowly. He was in a large bed, and a dwarf and two elves stood beside it. Orik, Arya and Vanir.

"Orik? I was told that you went to Hrothgar's funeral. Why are you in Aberon?" Eragon's voice was dull and lifeless.

"Aye…but now it is over and is a thing of the past, as the gods taught us. I came back here to tell you some very bad news."

Eragon chuckled bitterly. "I doubt that anything could be worse. What is it then?"

"Farklund of Durgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhuin was elected as new king."

Arya shifted slightly. Vanir was expressionless.

Eragon laughed. "It doesn't matter now. The dwarves won't even let me enter Farthen Dur when I am like this."

Orik sighed and put a hand on Eragon's shoulder. "I am sorry for your loss and misfortune, Argetlam. But our clan will always see you as one of ours."

"Argetlam… argetlam… arget no more. I am grateful, but I doubt that you will have the misfortune of seeing me again. Orik, could you tell me how Saphira is?"

"I do not know." Replied the dwarf. "She is still in deep slumber and refuses to wake. It seems that the touch of black magic injured her mind much. Do you wish to see her?"

"No. But I still have one last thing to do before I leave your lives forever."

Eragon wrapped a cloak around himself, and with Orik and the elves behind him, he walked out of the small room and headed for the room he knew Elva was in.

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Eh…couldn't think of anything more to write, so I left it at that. Sorry to those who said "no!" to the connection severing…I wasn't too happy either, but it is vital.


	23. Chapter 23

Some of you have been saying that it's a bit too "grief-filled". I agree with you. And I promise that as least one of the Morzansson brothers will have a happy ending. Hopefully.

Damn… I keep forgetting that Eragon Shadeslayer has only one arm now. You know what it feels like? You read your chapter one more time, and find that you used "arms" or "hands". Eragon must be sniggering in the shadows and whispering, "You deserve it, bastard…"

Thanks for the over 100 reviews!

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Eragon walked over to the bed Elva was in. She was trembling and was drenched in sweat.

"The battle nearly killed her." A voice said from the corner of the room.

Eragon turned around and faced Angela. "You are saying that she was like this since the Battle of the Burning Plains?"

"No. She started recovering after a few days, but when you came back last night…it was horrible to watch. She felt every feeling of your grief, Shadeslayer, and it was more than a child could stand."

Eragon's lips thinned into a line as he placed his right hand on Elva's dragon mark. Words of the Ancient language were unneeded to him now, as his veins were thick with the dark magic of the Vault, and spells he controlled were strong. Closing his eyes in concentration, he sent out his magic into Elva's mind, feeling every bit of pain that the child had felt, and drawing it out. The memories were tainted by the curse, and to heal her completely, Eragon had to remove them. His tendrils of magic searched about in her mind, and started assaulting the curse itself.

Eragon's hand suddenly flashed with brilliant blue light, and the rider began to sweat. It was a strong curse, and a small mistake could take Elva's life. His magic rammed into the curse, nudging it, attempting to force it out of the child's body. The curse had stayed long in Elva, and its roots ran deep into her spirit.

But the power of the Vault was victorious, and with a sigh, Eragon released his magic and looked at Elva. The dragon mark had faded and one had to look closely to see it.

"She will be fine soon. However, she will forget the entire period of her life when the curse ruled her soul. This is the best I can do." Backing off from the bed, Eragon began to try to regain his strength. The Vault inside him did not attempt to take over his body when he used magic; it did so when he was weary and was easier to defeat. Sighing, the rider left the room, ignoring the glances the others sent his way.

The Surdan sun was just beginning to rise as he walked in the streets. It was still early morning, and there were few people on his way to the gates. He didn't let them see him, vanishing into the shadows at any sound of footsteps. It reminded him of his time in Tarnag, but there was one difference: the people he cared for were still with him at the time.

In a short time, he reached the gates of the city, which had not yet been repaired. He ran a finger over the charred marks. It was his magic that did this, though he did not remember it. Leaping over the rumble in one jump, he stopped there, knowing that it would most likely be the last time he saw the city again. But then he heard light footsteps.

Arya and Vanir came into view, leaping over the gates as Eragon had. "Eragon!" called Vanir, who was behind Arya. "Why do you want to leave so soon?"

Eragon inclined his head. "I do not want to see again the ones that I care for. It brings back good memories that are now painful." His gaze turned to the sunrise. "I will miss our sparring matches, Vanir-vor."

Arya's beautiful face was impassive as usual, but Eragon saw past it and knew what she felt. It was in her eyes. "Arya svit-kona? I am sorry for all that has happened between us, but could I ask you one last favor?" Eragon's eyes were distant and hard. "Tell Saphira about my false 'death', and comfort her as much as you can. I know that she trusts you."

The rider crouched down on the ground and cupped a small flower in his hand. It was a very common seen flower called Aethynal, which was an elven name. Caressing it, Eragon began to sing.

The song was wordless, but filled with sorrow and despair. Its melody was haunting and filled with twists, and leapt and fell with each turn. It was clear and bright like the silver light of a rising moon, but also was dark as the shadows of the caverns in the Beor Mountains. The same anguish and depression was twined around the melody, and though without words, anyone could feel it.

Then suddenly, Eragon stopped. He plucked up the Aethynal flower, and handed it to Arya. "_Wiol ono."_ He whispered, before backing off and running away from the city, disappearing like a wisp of black smoke that has been blown away by the wind.

Arya looked at the flower in her hands. It was so different from Faolin's calm determination that was the dark black of his flowers. The Aethynal was the color of the sea, a fiery soul that was covered in sadness.

A tear dropped out of Arya's emerald eyes.

_Guys out there… I did not like writing this chapter, so don't think I like torturing Eragon. Okay, maybe I do, but I don't like doing it this way. Murtagh's story will be better. Promise. Hopefully._


	24. Chapter 24

Murtagh knelt before the rider king. "Ebrithil."

"Rise, Murtagh." A cold voice commanded. "Do you know why I have summoned you?"

"No, master."

"If you have not noticed the shifting of great powers in the land, then your training is indeed incomplete. Open your mind, Murtagh. Sense the magic strands that make up the world, and tell me what you see."

Murtagh closed his eyes and began to meditate. He felt the threads of enchantment that ran throughout the land, shaping the land. His mind explored far and wide, and suddenly, he gasped; things were not as they were. His mind closed in on the change, but he could not make out what he had seen. It was blurry, like a fairth made by an inexperienced maker. All he knew was it had something to do with the Vault of Souls.

"Master? I sense it, but I do not know what I saw."

"Then you need more time to hone your skills." Galbatorix stared out of the window, cold eyes deep in thought. "Nothing has happened like this for as long as I remember. It is not a thing that should of happened. The keeper of the Vault has changed."

Murtagh looked up in surprise. "But we draw on the power of the Vault, Master! If this being is in control of the Vault of Souls—"

The king turned his gaze on Murtagh. "The keeper does not hold power over the Vault; he merely carries it and is bound to it. I do not know how it came to be that the keepership has changed, but as you are my only rider, you will go and find the new keeper. He will be stronger than anything then you have faced before, with movements faster than lightening; but as the transferring of the Vault has happened only recently, his soul will not be completely melded with the Vault, and he will not be as powerful as you. That is why you need to travel fast, for he gains more power with every second. Go, and bring him back to me." Galbatorix put his hand on Murtagh's shoulder. "I will not accept failure this time."

Murtagh nodded wordlessly and bowed.

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Murtagh bent low on Thorn, letting the wind whip past them. They were over Surda now, flying high in the skies to avoid detection. He closed his eyes again and felt for the Vault. It was normally hard to trace magicians, but the Vault was too powerful and left very significant trails.

_Thorn, the trail of magic leads straight to Aberon. It is strange._

Thorn snorted. _We are bound to our oaths. We will have to follow the keeper, no matter where he goes. Though I do not like the idea of going into Aberon much either._

_I will do what I must. Put me down on the outskirts of the city, and I will go in and find this keeper. I can disguise myself well._

_Very well. Be cautious._

Thorn landed on the ground noiselessly and Murtagh swung himself off the dragon. After smearing some mud on his face and casting an illusion spell on himself, he began to walk in the direction of the city gates.

_Surda isn't exactly the same as I thought._ Murtagh had expected the Surdans to be joyous and cheerful, unlike the grim people of the Empire. Now, as he walked on the streets of Surda, he realized it was the same everywhere. _War changes everything._

He paused and closed his eyes once more. The magic of the Vault here was still strong, meaning that it could not have left for more than a day. He was continuing to walk in the streets, searching for the trail, when an unexpected finger tapped him on the shoulder.

"Sir? I have a feeling that I know you."

Murtagh turned around, and the wits were shocked out of him when he saw the familiar pair of beautiful green eyes. His hold on the illusion spell failed miserably.

Arya's eyes widened and she whipped out her slim elven sword. Out of pure habit, Murtagh drew his sword as well. He immediately remembered it wasn't the brightest thing to do.

A guard on the street blinked when he saw Zar'roc flash in the bright Surdan sunlight. "That is Shadeslayer's old sword…" He stumbled back and screamed, "It's the red rider!"

Peopled shrieked, soldiers came rushing out, captains shouted commands. It was utter havoc. Murtagh swore and began to run.

Murtagh grimaced. It wasn't going to be easy to get to the gates, but once he got there, nothing could stop him and Thorn together. He sheathed his red blade and began to run. _Thorn, I've been found out. Be ready for me._

_You've been found out? What about our mission?_

_I've found that the trail of magic leads us out of Aberon, and I can't stay here much longer anyway. A few people have found out who I am._

Thorn sighed._ That's an understatement. From what I can see from above, the entire Surdan Guard is after you._

Murtagh looked up for a brief second and found the red dragon circling high above him, waiting for the rider to reach the gates. The dragon would be too easy a target for archers if he picked up Murtagh now.

The arrows bounced off when they triggered the rider's wards. Murtagh felt his strength slowly waning, a feeling he hadn't had since his drawing on the Vault of souls. Quickening his pace, he sprinted to the city gates.

The city gates were being rebuilt, because for some reason they had been destroyed a few days earlier. That didn't matter to Murtagh now. All that mattered was that it would make it easier to escape the city. He heard the sound of a sword behind him, and he turned around to parry the blow. It was Arya, the best wielder of the sword the rider had ever seen, apart from Galbatorix. Very unwise it would be to duel her now, as she was hard to defeat, and the guards would cut off his way to Thorn. He swore silently.

Finally he dashed out of the city, his breath coming in great gulps. Crimson claws came to pluck him from the ground, and Murtagh didn't resist, knowing it was his dragon.

_It is strange that we didn't see Saphira,_ Commented Murtagh, ignoring the furious shouts that came from below him as he climbed onto Thorn's back. _Eragon was absent as well._

_Maybe they are caught up in their own tasks. Or are too afraid to fight us again._

Murtagh shook his head. _You don't know Eragon as well as I do._ Scratching his hair thoughtfully, he thought of the look that Arya had in her eyes before he was discovered. There was sorrow in them, and a look of yearning.

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Well, more on Murtagh later. Thanks for the 120 reviews!


	25. Chapter 25

Jeez, it's hard for me to write these things.

Oh, and do any of you know what the cities Melian and Furnost looks like? I need the information, if there is any. Thanks.

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Murtagh tensed on the back of Thorn. It was a cold night. The Jiet River ran beneath them like a silver serpent. They were close to the keeper now, for the feeling of powerful dark magic was very noticeable to those who could sense it.

_Calm down, Murtagh. You wouldn't be able to defeat him if you are nervous._

_I am not nervous; I am merely excited._

Thorn suddenly slowed down._ I see a small campfire in the distance, slightly covered by those trees._

_Just beside the river?_ Asked Murtagh.

_Yes._

_I can see it. It is him; the I can sense the Vault perfectly here without the usual concentration. I will go down now, by myself. You are too large and it is impossible for you to avoid being seen._

Thorn snorted and landed on the damp earth._ Why cannot I swoop over this keeper without warning and burn him into a flaming torch until you bind him with your magic?_

_It is too risky. He might notice you before you attacked._

Thorn chuckled._ Always trying to protect me, aren't you?_

_Yes. _Murtagh jumped off the dragon, and unsheathing his blade, he quietly ran to the fire, where he knew the keeper was.

The forest was not dense, and Murtagh could navigate through it fairly easily. Now he could see a cloaked figure slumped before the fire, his back turned to the red rider.

_Perfect. _He would not use a spell, for Galbatorix had told him that the powerful force of the Vault could sometimes defend the keeper from magical attacks. He would instead use Zar'roc to slice open the man's back, sever the spine, and then capture the man with his magic when the keeper was weakened.

As he swiftly brought his sword down on the man, the person suddenly stiffened and whirled around to face him. Murtagh's eyes widened in shock, but he couldn't stop the sword in time.

A long, deep gash opened up in Eragon's chest, and the wound spat blood. He fell forward weakly into Murtagh's arms.

Murtagh swore. _Why do these things always keep happening to us?_ He put a hand on the wound and started healing it with his magic.

Eragon groaned and opened his eyes. "Murtagh?" Eragon's crimson eyes were blurry with pain. "Why are you here?"

"Answer my questions first." Replied Murtagh, as he ran a hand over the still bleeding wound. "What the hell happened to you? You seem to have new surprises every time we meet. Tell me what happened."

Eragon croaked out a small laugh. "I'd rather not, Murtagh. Firstly, I don't want to talk about it. Second, I'm sure that your king will find out."

Then Murtagh saw his hand. "What happened to your gedwëy ignasia? It seems to have been destroyed by dark magic."

Eragon sighed. "I'll tell you what happened. I think I'll fade away if I don't empty my sorrow somehow. But you must promise me that you will never talk to anyone of this or reveal this memory to anyone else."

Murtagh frowned. "But Galbatorix—"

"I will hide the memory with my magic. Combined with your power, I believe that we can conceal it."

Murtagh relaxed. "Tell me then, Eragon."

So Eragon told him about the rescue, the Vault, the madness, the severing of the connection, and of the departure. Eragon talked faster with each word, seemingly grateful that he could finally talk to some one with such matters, though Murtagh could see he was pained by bringing up things that should best be buried.

Murtagh was silent throughout the story. After Eragon had finished, the red rider sighed and leaned against a tree. "They forced you to sever the connection?" he asked with a questioning glance.

Eragon stood up and looked at the campfire. "Yes…and no. I would of severed it myself if they hadn't. It would be too dangerous for Saphira to remain linked to me… and I am willing to sacrifice her company with me in order to keep her safe. But they did it without my agreement, before I could even talk to my dragon one more time." He clenched his fists. "I hate them for that."

Murtagh stood up as well. "I know what you seek; not pity, but a companion. And I will provide that tonight. Now that you're strong enough, would you like to spar?" Murtagh drew his sword and twirled it beside him.

Eragon's lips curled into a small smile as he remembered their first sparring match, and he drew his blade as well. "With sharpened swords? We could kill each other."

Murtagh chuckled and said, "Geuloth du knifr!" The two swords shone with sudden red light, and when it faded, an invisible barrier was placed around the blades.

With a cry, Murtagh leapt at Eragon. Eragon ducked under the crimson blade and twisted his sword around, aiming for Murtagh's neck. The red rider laughed and parried the swift thrust.

The two brothers twirled and danced as they dueled, the swords weaving a blur of light. Eragon was the faster swordsman, while Murtagh was stronger; and they were evenly matched, each drawing on the power of the Vault. On they dueled, none gaining advantage over the other, and they kept fighting until dawn the next day.

Finally, Eragon cried, "Halt!" The two brothers jumped away from each other, grinning. "That was the best fight I've had in a long time," Murtagh said with a smile. "Though Thorn obviously doesn't think so." The red dragon was asleep beside them.

"Murtagh?" called Eragon as Murtagh woke up his dragon and climbed atop it. "I have already concealed your memories with a spell. Be sure to do the same."

Murtagh suddenly stopped in his movements. "You do know that I lied to you about Katrina being in Helgrind, right?"

"I've worked that out. I don't blame you."

"I know you don't, Eragon. What I'm trying to say is…Katrina is in Uru'baen."

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Finally, a happy chapter for Eragon. Reviews, please!


	26. Chapter 26

Sorry for this late update. I was transported to a place where I had utterly no chance to touch a computer for three days.

Well, I'm back now. And this chapter will be a long one. Hopefully.

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"Katrina is in Uru'baen? Why?" Eragon's face already white face was getting paler.

"The king will seek through the minds of anyone he deems useful. The girl certainly qualifies." Murtagh grimaced. "It would be impossible for him to leave Katrina with the Ra'zac. The Ra'zac are uncontrollable in their hunger."

"I must go save her. And I'm the only chance she has, now that the Varden are nearly without hope."

Murtagh suddenly had a queer look on his face, an expression torn between amusement and irritation. "They will fare better than you think, Eragon."

Eragon raised his eyebrows but did not question further. "Can you tell me where she is held?"

"Of course I can. No oaths bind me on this matter." Replied Murtagh with a grim laugh.

"Then will you?"

"I will. For I know that she is held not fifty feet Galbatorix's quarters, in a room that is made for the more special 'guests' of the palace."

A thought suddenly struck Eragon. "Wait… I recall that you said on our last meeting that you had to find me and capture me alive. Yet, here you are, and we were sparring last night. What happened to that order?"

Murtagh chuckled. "This is when the magical powers of oaths overlap. Galbatorix told me that my only purpose now was to find the keeper, and bring the keeper back to him. My only purpose, you see? All the other oaths now count for nothing."

"But I am the keeper now!"

Murtagh's black eyes suddenly shone. "Yes… and I am going to bring you back to him, though Galbatorix may not know it. But indirectly, I'm also bringing you to Katrina…"

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Riding another dragon was not a thing that Eragon would of liked to experience. It was a strange, alien feeling, and it conjured up images that made him remember the joyful days he and Saphira had together. Saphira, who was most likely still unconscious from the black magic.

"Eragon? Try to shield the power you have within you. Galbatorix would sense the raw power over a league away."

"I will try to, Murtagh."

Thorn was flying effortlessly in the blue sky, and they would be in Uru'baen in less than ten minutes. Eragon put his hood on. His unusual looks would raise too many questions, and more trouble than they could handle.

_Murtagh? I can see the towers of Uru'baen in the distance._

_Good. Land here, and Eragon and I will go in alone._

_Very well. But you know that we are almost demanding a beating from Galbatorix himself by doing this._

_I know. But we do not have any choice._

Murtagh and Eragon jumped off the red dragon gracefully, and silently they began to walk toward the dark city of Uru'baen.

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"We will wait until dark." Said Murtagh quietly as they entered a fairly clean inn. "I will come with you into the palace, but that is as far as I will go. You will need to rescue Katrina on your own. Galbatorix must not know of this entire operation. Only until tomorrow can he find out."

"What will happen to you then?"

"I will survive. I haven't exactly disobeyed his orders, and he cannot possibly kill me." Murtagh gave a hollow laugh and passed a mug of beer to Eragon. "Drink up. It will take your mind off things. For a while, at least." He added bitterly.

Eragon's crimson eyes, hidden beneath his black hood, betrayed no emotion as his pale fingers reached for the mug.

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Damn… another one of my famous too-short chapters. But I will lengthen the next chapter until it's over 1500 words. I promise.


	27. Chapter 27

Yes, over 140 reviews! Thanks!

Oh, and since no one told me anything about Melian and Furnost, I will assume Paolini didn't talk about them at all and I will be free to twist the cities in anyway I wish. Ha ha.

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Eragon snarled.The palace walls were harder to climb than he had imagined, but it was the best way to enter the palace without being seen. With a silent cry, he hoisted himself over the wall and landed on the other side.

"You're late." Whispered Murtagh.

"A couple of minutes will not change anything." Eragon wrapped his black cloak tighter around his body. "Tell me now; where is she held?"

"Almost next to Galbatorix's room, as I have told you before. Now, I would recommend you to climb up, and enter through that window." Murtagh raised his hand and pointed at a small window about thirty feet above them. "There will be at least two guards standing near it, so remember to kill them before your entry." Murtagh paused for a moment. "Katrina is behind one of the twenty iron doors that you will see when you enter. Even I do not know which one she is in, so you will have to find her yourself. This is all I can do to help. Good luck."

Eragon embraced Murtagh, and began his climb.

The stone was remarkably smooth, weathered from many winters. They felt…ancient somehow. Shaking such thoughts from his mind, he climbed faster and reached the window.

There were only two guards in sight. Opening the window silently, he crept behind them and stabbed them both quickly with his hunting knife. Gently lowering the bodies to the ground to prevent noise, he looked around his surroundings.

He was in a small room lined with iron doors. He closed his eyes and began to feel for life around him.

There…in a door just three paces from him, he felt a slight glimmer, a sign of life. Breaking apart the lock with his hunting knife, he cautiously opened the door…

Just to find himself face to face with a tall, dark, handsome man with a crown set upon his brow.

"Surprised?" asked Galbatorix with a smile.

A huge force suddenly battered Eragon in the chest. He stumbled backwards, struggling to remain standing. Galbatorix was still smiling.

"Tell me, Eragon. Tell me what I should do with you. My rider Murtagh is now plotting in secret against me because of you; and yet, the Vault is in your hands, making it impossible for me to kill you." Galbatorix let out a small sigh. "You are a fly that I long to swat, but cannot. And I know that the little fly would never work with me." The words of the king were smooth and snakelike, a soothing touch to the ear; and yet they held venom within.

"Kill me all the same, _your majesty_. The Vault of Souls means nothing to you, as you are so powerful and wise." Eragon had his hand on his stomach, and was breathing hard.

"Impudent boy. You are merely a carrier of one of my best weapons, as one of my sword bearers. I will not suffer the loss of the power of the Vault, though it is nothing in the grand scale. I long to kill you, to imprison you at least; but the power of the Vault would suffer with the keeper, and I do not want that to happen again."

Eragon gritted his teeth. "Then you plan to let me roam free?"

Galbatorix glanced at Eragon. "You are of the Varden, and you hate me for what I am. Do you truly think I would let you go? I have been scrying you ever since you met with Murtagh, and I know what you two have been doing. You are a threat to me."

Eragon closed his eyes. "I am not one of the Varden now, and I swear to whatever gods there are that I will never join forces with them in the future. I hate them as much as I hate you now."

Galbatorix smiled slightly. "Good. Pure hate. But that doesn't mean that you won't attempt assassination in the future."

"Why would I kill you for no reason at all? The crown you wear is meaningless to me now. So are the lives you took. In the end, everything dies." Eragon replied, emotionless.

"Then swear that you will do nothing to harm my Empire, Eragon. Then I will consider."

"I do not bargain, Galbatorix. Kill me, or let me go. It's all the same to me now. All I ask is that the woman be returned to my cousin." Eragon gestured to the limp figure he saw behind Galbatorix. _Katrina._

Galbatorix inclined his head. "It is the same with me. Swear the oath in the ancient language, and I will give the girl back."

Eragon chuckled. "You do not trust me? I thought not. So I will do it." The ancient words came easily to Eragon, for he was weary of the world, and almost nothing mattered to him now.

Galbatorix laughed, and said, "A smart boy. Very well; take the girl. But you must understand that I know what happened to you, and if you displease me in any way…" Galbatorix stared deep into Eragon's eyes. "…It would be most unpleasant. Your dragon is not yours now, but I could still inflict some pain."

Eragon, showing no surprise at Galbatorix's knowledge of his current state, slung Katrina's limp form over his back and left without another word.

Eragon did not meet Murtagh on his way out of the city. Thorn was also gone. He sighed and began to run south, toward Surda. He still dreaded the place, and resolved to get a horse for Katrina as fast as possible and send her there alone.

The moon still hung bright in the night, casting a silver glow on the land. The soothing light did nothing to calm Eragon's temper. The rider king was nothing he had imagined. Galbatorix was calm, polite in his own way, and if he were just one other man on the road, Eragon would have thought him charming. It was nothing like the images he had been given since he was a child. The Varden claimed that he was a madman; and yet, he doubted it now.

What if the Varden were the people seeking to disrupt the country, and the Empire was the only thing that still held everything in place? The Varden talked about raised taxes and forced conscription in the Empire, but what if it was just because the war they were waging that the Empire had to go to such extreme measures? Normally it would have troubled Eragon, but now it was simply another string of thought that ran through his mind. He had nothing to do with neither the Varden nor the Empire now, a lone being in the wide lands of Alagaesia.

Eragon looked over his shoulder. They were far from Uru'baen now. With a grunt, he took Katrina off his shoulders.

The young woman didn't seem to have many wounds. It was logical. The king did not have to torture her for information, for he could get it himself easily. She did have signs of not being fed properly, but Eragon decided that the job of feeding her was best given to his cousin. Lying down on the ground, he breathed in the soft fragrance of the blades of grass around him.

He did not sleep that night, though his heart yearned for it.

Katrina was still unconscious the next day. No sign of poison or anything else was found in her body, so Eragon concluded that her wounds were in her mind and would only heal with time. Shrugging off his worries, he began his journey to Surda once more, now settling on a steadier pace to avoid over exerting himself. He dared not use magic now, as there was always the chance of miscalculation, and in his case, miscalculations were fatal. Once he was weary, the Vault would possess him easily. _Worse than any cripple,_ thought Eragon to himself.

Then the familiar pain assailed him and made him scream in agony. He collapsed on the hot sand and started writhing, throwing off Katrina. Eragon gritted his teeth and started fortifying his mind.

After what seemed like hours, he subdued the spirits and he drew in ragged breaths. It was a very close fight of wills, and he just narrowly won.

His hood had been torn on the ground, and he looked at it in disgust. His crimson eyes flared with sudden rage and he tore the cloak up, leaving the shreds to float slowly to the ground. "Why?" he whispered.

Then he noticed that Katrina was now awake and was staring at him with fear in her eyes.

"Katrina." Eragon took a step forward and Katrina backed a step in return. "Don't you know who I am? Have I changed that much?" A fierce gleam was in Eragon's eyes. "Of course I have changed much. It all started with that bloody blue stone. Damn your father for not taking it! Damn this world for not wrenching it from my hands at that moment!"

Then it struck Katrina. "Era-Eragon?"

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Revelation… Now, if any of you think that this chapter was not logical in any way, please tell me.

Well, I've kept my promise. 1500 words. Longer than I've ever written.


	28. Chapter 28

Hey guys, I've been thinking of changing my pen name. It was originally used for the shur'tugal site, and I made it because I could not think of anything else. Now I think it is rather uncreative and I wish to change it. Advice?

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"Katrina." Eragon sighed and sat down on the ground. "Roran is worried for you."

"I know he is. But what in Alagaesia happened to you, Eragon?"

Eragon forced a small laugh. "It isn't my place to tell the story. Well, maybe it is, but I don't want to talk about it again. You can ask Roran when we get back."

"I-what has happened since I- I mean—"

"Relax and don't think about anything, Katrina. You'll know what happened soon enough."

"Where are we? Where is Roran?"

"We are somewhere between Uru'baen and Aberon. And your Roran is in Aberon." Eragon scooped up Katrina with his arm, slung her over his back, and ignoring the protests of the girl, he started to run towards Surda.

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More than an hour later, Eragon saw a city near the horizon. _Melian… almost to Aberon now._ Traveling around the city to avoid being seen, he stopped at last in the Tinriel Forest, that was south of the city. Eragon looked over his shoulder and saw that Katrina was fast asleep. _She needs rest, _he decided. Eragon gently put Katrina on the ground and set up a small campfire. There were still a few hours until sunrise, and he could afford to wait for Katrina.

Lying on the ground, he tried to calm himself. The sight of Katrina made him think of the days when he was still a simple farm boy. The innocence, the joy…

Eragon suddenly sat up, breathing hard. His mind felt a slight shimmer in the trees around him. There was something in the woods, and it wasn't mere animal.

Standing up, he drew his sword. "Who goes!" he shouted into the silence. Katrina was awake now, her eyes filled with fear.

Dark figures emerged from the trees. All had arrows on their elven-made bows, and the arrows were pointed directly at Eragon.

Eragon cursed. He had been through enough, but even now it seemed that everyone wanted to kill him. "Who are you people?"

A figure stepped forward, letting the light of the campfire illuminate her face "No, Eragon. The question is, who are you? Where is the old Eragon, that wouldn't even think of betrayal?"

Eragon drew in a breath. It was Arya.

"Betrayal? Who betrayed who, Arya?"

"Do not lie to me, Eragon. Just after you left, Nasuada was nearly killed by an assassin. It took Angela days to heal her completely. And yet, almost immediately after, Murtagh shows up at the very gates of Aberon. It took me a while to see it, and even longer to believe it, but you are the only one with the motive and the strength to do such things." Arya's face was cold as ever.

"Murtagh? But it's impossible! I've only seen him few days before…" Eragon stopped himself.

"You did? I was hoping otherwise, you traitor." Unseen by anyone, a tear flowed down Arya's beautiful face.

"Arya… I did not—"

"We came to kill you, Eragon. You are too much of a threat to the Varden, the elves, and everyone. Nasuada has already sent messages to my people and the dwarves, telling them to ban you from their lands." Arya lowered her head slightly. "Then she ordered us to find and kill you."

"Nasuada…" muttered Eragon under his breath.

"Eragon, you must understand that I do not want to do this. Vanir refused to come. And I would of if it was possible."

"Kill me, or don't kill me. Stop talking. Whatever the outcome is, Katrina is here, and I expect you to take her back to Surda." Eragon replied, without emotion.

Arya said nothing and pointed her sword at Eragon. Immediately, the bowstrings twanged.

Battering away the arrows in front of him away with his sword with one wild sweep, he ducked to avoid those behind him. Swinging his sword around, a familiar slender blade met his. Not wanting to duel with the elf, he pulled away.

Arya's sword suddenly lashed out and caught him on the right side of the face, tearing a long gash. Reeling from the unexpected blow, Eragon sheathed his sword and covered the wound with his hand. "We shall meet again, Arya svit-kona." He spat, and vanished into the darkness before the other elves could capture him.

Arya sighed and more tears flowed down her face. The look of pain in Eragon's eyes would haunt her.

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Man, I think the plotline is getting a bit jumbled up in my mind. I need to think for a while before I plan the next move.

Reviews!


	29. Chapter 29

I'm sorry that I keep throwing things at Eragon. It's just that… he was so immature in the first two books, so I decided to twist him into something _I_ like. Well… I swear that I really, really want to jump to part two of the story (where Eragon doesn't feel so much pain), but two people are getting in my way: Arya and Murtagh. The two people have their own things to finish before I focus on Eragon again. Oh, and don't get any ideas about Arya and Murtagh together. I like it somewhat, but it's not going to happen in my story.

Enough of the blabbering. On with the story!

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Murtagh winced as one of his wounds cracked open again. The punishment for betraying the king was always harsh. He wearily healed the wound with magic, but the gash didn't seal together completely.

_Murtagh? The king has given us a new mission._

Murtagh groaned. _What is it, Thorn? _He had been hoping that he could rest a while in the palace.

_He says that his scouts have found a small camp of Varden soldiers near Furnost. Galbatorix wants you to lead a small group of the Imperial Guard to find out what they are doing, and then kill them all._

_Very well. It doesn't look like I have a choice, does it?_

Thorn sighed. _What do you think? Meet me outside the city gates as soon as possible._

Murtagh belted on Zar'roc and began packing his things.

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Furnost was a small city that was faring quite well under the Empire. The Varden had so far deemed it to be no use, and the people there were not poor.

Murtagh sat on Thorn, thinking over the events in the past few days. It wasn't a pleasant thing to do, but he had to. _I have to clear up my mind and find out what is going on in the Varden…_

Suddenly, a soldier came before Murtagh and kneeled. "My lord. We were on our way to the Varden camp when we discovered something most unusual. Captain Therodev has already sent men to investigate, but he would like you to come as well."

Murtagh nodded and leapt off Thorn. _I doubt that anything would be unusual now, Thorn._

Thorn chuckled and growled. _Go on, Murtagh. I'll wait here._

Murtagh followed the soldier toa small sandy plain just four leagues north of the city of Furnost. It was a common thing to look at, until he saw the vultures.

Four vultures were circling over a crumpled body lying in the sand. The small group of the Imperial Guard was staring at the body a good longbow shot away, with looks of shock on the soldier's faces.

"What is this all about? Why don't the men go save the man lying there?" snapped Murtagh.

"Sir, look. It's happening again."

A vulture suddenly swooped down on the man, but immediately squawked and flew upwards as though hit by an unseen object.

Murtagh took a few steps closer and saw the fierce flare of crimson eyes that only belonged to one man in Alagaesia.

Eragon.

"Men! Carry him to my tent! Now!"

"But sir, he's a shade!"

"He won't harm you! But if you don't hurry, I will!"

Murtagh ran over to his brother lying in the sand. Eragon grinned weakly and spat out two stones in his mouth. "About…about time you showed up."

"Gods. How long have you been shooting stones at them like this? Why don't you use magic? Why can't you move?" Murtagh saw a thin scar running from under his right eye to near the corner of his mouth. "And how in Alagaesia did you get that scar?"

Eragon croaked, and Murtagh assumed it was a laugh. "I've been doing this for a day at least…spitting out stones at the son of whores, because… my neck is the only thing I can move now. Feel my joints."

Murtagh ran his fingers over Eragon's wrist and knees, and to his growing horror, they seemed to be cracked into small pieces. "But why can't you heal yourself? And you didn't answer the question about your scar."

"I know my limits… fairly well, Murtagh. The time and energy it takes to heal broken joints is extremely large, and I would almost… be on the brink of death when I've finished. Then the Vault… would take over." Eragon clenched his teeth. "I would rather die than let that happen. And my scar… I don't want to talk about it. I will only say that the one who did it gave me more pain than the scar itself."

The soldiers gently lifted him up from the sand and carried him to Murtagh's tent.

Murtagh ground his teeth. _Why do these things happen to him?_

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There I go again. Please do not curse me for doing something like this again to poor Eragon… it's just that when I was running in my mind the "People that Murtagh Care For List" there was only Thorn and Eragon in it. Nasuada is not possible for what I have in mind. So yes, the following chapters are almost completely about Murtagh. Eragon is just the unfortunate fellow who strings the plot together by getting severely injured.


	30. Chapter 30

Murtagh looked over to the sunset. The soldiers that had been spying on the Varden camp had discovered nothing out of ordinary, and he was getting frustrated. The red rider sighed and entered his tent.

Eragon was faring slightly better. Murtagh's men had bandaged and washed his wounds, and fixed the fractures in his joints with strips of wood.

"How are you doing?" asked Murtagh when he came over to Eragon.

"I don't know." Replied Eragon. "I don't know. It seems so wrong… I shouldn't be here at all. None of this should have happened."

"Pull yourself together, Eragon. It won't do you good if you dwell on things that should have been." Murtagh found a chair and leaned back in it. "Now, tell me what happened to you."

Eragon was silent for a few seconds, red eyes unreadable. "I got Katrina back from Uru'baen." He said quietly.

"I think I've worked that out myself, Eragon. Don't tell me that Galbatorix gave you a severe beating and threw you all the way here." Murtagh chuckled. "Though that is exactly what he did to me."

Eragon smiled and shook his head. "No. I was traveling with Katrina in the Tinriel Forest when we were ambushed by a dozen or more elven spell casters."

"The elves did this to you? But I thought—"

"The elves did not break my joints. In the encounter, I managed to escape with only this…" Eragon touched the scar on his face. "I spent a few days walking around, in a daze. Hardly thinking, I have to admit. Then I was attacked." He sighed and looked upwards toward Murtagh. "I don't know who or what it was. There were many people, and it was around midnight. There were thirty or more, all excellent swordsmen, and they overpowered me. I passed out and knew nothing more." Eragon forced a grin. "When I woke up, my joints were crushed and I was lying there."

"No ordinary leader planned this." Murtagh took out a small knife and began sharpening it. "Your broken joints have been touched by dark magic, making it nigh impossible to heal with a spell. The caster is very skilled in the arts, for he actually bypassed the natural magical wards the keeper of the Vault possesses."

Eragon shrugged and closed his eyes.

Murtagh sheathed the knife and ran his fingers through his dark hair. _Thorn? Are you listening to all this?_

_Of course I am. _Thorn was just outside Murtagh's tent._ Who would of done this to Eragon for no apparent reason at all? They could of killed him, and yet they left him there._

_It is a mystery that will be hard to solve. _

A voice suddenly came from outside the tent. "My lord? Captain Therodev. May I speak with you, sir?"

Murtagh grunted and waved him in. The captain kneeled down on the ground and looked up at Murtagh. "Sir? My men have found something strange. The Varden troops have moved out a cart full of crates that seem to be holding dried herbs of some kind. It seems as if they knew where we were and wanted us to see it, for they left it in plain view for us." The captain stopped for a second before continuing. "We also heard what was in the boxes. They said the crates were filled with _Veintifalas_, though I do not know what that is."

Murtagh's eyes widened, and then narrowed. _They are not going to be an easy opponent to fight, Thorn._

Thorn growled._ What, pray tell, is Veintifalas?_

_The best herb for bone fractures in Alagaesia. They are taunting us, as well as sending us a message that they were the ones who did this to Eragon._

_Are you sure?_

_Yes. Without the help of magic, the only option left to make sure that Eragon can regain the use of his limbs would be to use the herb, and as quickly as possible. They did it, and I am sure of it._

_But why would they do this?_

_Because their target isn't Eragon. _Murtagh drew in a breath slowly. _It's me._

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Sorry for the short chapter. I hope that it's enough for you people. Reviews!

P.S. I've been getting plenty of "Kill Arya instead!" reviews. She seems to be very unpopular. All right, I'll try my best :)


	31. Chapter 31

I am very sorry that this update came so late. No, I didn't go away to yet another place without a computer; the computer left _me_ to get fixed, for my laptop broke down and I had to cart it off. Now that I got it back, I'll try to do a 2000 word chapter!

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_I don't quite understand…_ said Thorn, deep in thought. Then his eyes widened. _They want you to go steal the herb? It is a trap then!_

_Exactly._ Replied Murtagh grimly.

_Will you go, then?_

_Of course I will. _Murtagh threw on a traveling cloak and walked out of the tent. _Eragon needs it, and I need to find out who the leader of this small party is. Don't come unless I tell you to._

Thorn snorted. _I don't like this, Murtagh._

_Neither do I, but I have to. The night is here, and I can hide myself well._

Murtagh took a deep breath and ran toward the Varden camps, not making the slightest sound.

Murtagh unsheathed a small dagger as he neared the camps. The torches around the camps were lit, but there was no one in sight. Not even guards to keep watch. He could only hear the sound of his own breaths.

Suddenly, a soft moan came from one of the tents. Murtagh stiffened and edged near it, pressing his ear against the rough fabric of the tent cloth. His heightened senses immediately heard the sound of a conversation.

"—why did the lady bring so much _Veintifalas_ out for no apparent reason at all? It seems as if we had wasted our time with these—"

Another voice grunted. "Ya don't need to know, you no-good healer. Just patch these dogs up as well you can with the herbs and we'll be getting on our way. And see? The herbs are of some use, since you're using them on my men right now. Stop it with the questions. The lady has her own reasons." Then there were sounds of heavy footsteps that faded away.

The red rider crept to the tent flap and lifted a small corner of it. He saw five men lying on beds, letting out soft moans of pain. Some had splints on their limbs, and a robed man was walking among them, putting boiled leaves of what Murtagh recognized as _Veintifalas_ on the splints. The healer was muttering under his breath.

Murtagh straightened up and walked over to the healer, stabbing him in the back with the dagger. The man fell without a sound. Smiling a grim smile, the rider picked up a bundle of herbs from the ground, and as an afterthought peeled some of the leaves from the fractures of the wounded men. After making sure that the plants were the same, he stepped out of the tent and vanished into the darkness.

As he was walking back to his camp, he thought about the strange emotion in Eragon's eyes that he had seen when talking to him. It was hidden well and was barely noticeable; but it was there. It went deeper than the feelings Murtagh had seen on Eragon's face when they met beside the Jiet River. It was a painful yearning… surprisingly similar to the look in Arya's eyes.

When Murtagh reached the camps, it was nearly dawn. "Roendre? You're a healer, are you not? Move the shade into another spare tent, and put these on the shade's wounds." The rider handed the young healer the bundle of herbs. "I trust that you know what to do."

"Yes, my lord."

Murtagh sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He had discovered nothing about the enemy on the trip. _I thought it was a trap. It wasn't… so what is it? What is the meaning of it? _Lying down on his bed, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his troubled mind.

What seemed like mere seconds later, a terrified voice rang out from outside his tent. "My lord! My lord! Something has gone horribly wrong!"

Murtagh sat up and attempted to shake the sleep out of him._ What now?_ He thought with a curse.

"My lord! You must come! I don't know what— the shade—"

Roendre was pale. "Spare the talk and lead me to him." Growled Murtagh. Roendre nodded and hurried to the tent where Eragon was being kept.

Murtagh walked through the tent flap and saw that Eragon was drenched in sweat, and was trembling. "Eragon?" asked Murtagh, stricken. "How do you feel?"

Eragon didn't seem to notice him. His crimson eyes were wide and filled with pain. "Arya… forgive me…" he whispered.

Murtagh touched Eragon's forehead and found it was scorching hot. Swearing, he took the herbs off him and found that a dark black color now covered the parts where they had laid the herbs, and the areas were now swollen.

_Poison._

But it didn't make sense. The men Murtagh had seen in the Varden camps were using the exact herb. Unless…

The wounded men Murtagh saw were poisoned just to make him believe that the herbs were usable.

Sweat dripped down from Murtagh's brow. "Eragon. Eragon? Listen to me. How do you feel?"

Eragon finally noticed Murtagh's presence. "Murtagh?" he rasped. Eragon forced a smile. "I've been… much better. The world seems to be spinning, and things are flashing around, spinning…do you see them? I see… them. I mean…" He suddenly closed his eyes, and coughed. Blood splattered on his clothes.

Murtagh nearly passed out. _Oh no…_ The rider gritted his teeth and started washing the wounds with water, but it was no use. The dark skin remained the same, and Eragon's breaths were getting shallower.

"My lord?" a soldier called from outside the tent. "A woman from the Varden wishes to speak with you, sir."

Without a word, Murtagh whipped out Zar'roc and headed outside. He now knew who caused all this.

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I have to tell you guys something. During the typing of this story, my computer completely froze and shut itself down _two times_, and a faint smell of "burning somethings" came from the keyboard. So if I don't update for more than two days, you'll know that I carted my laptop off again to fix it. Oh well.

Well, your computers aren't broken, so review, please!


	32. Chapter 32

I am certain that my computer is screwed. But I think I will type up a few small chapters before I get it fixed.

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A slender woman was standing outside the tent. "Good morning, lord rider." She said in a mocking tone.

"Why did you do this to him? You cut off his arm and yet come back again to kill him? What are you doing, Linasi? What are you doing? Haven't you done enough? Eragon has nothing to do with you!"

Linasi smiled. "Eragon had nothing to do with this. It was you who brought this all about, for you are his brother."

Murtagh gritted his teeth. "Why then? I am the one you want. Leave him alone, for he has felt more pain than a boy should take."

The sorceress shook her head. "You ask questions that you already know the answers to. No one in Alagaesia can defeat you in a duel of either magic or swordsmanship, save Galbatorix and perhaps your brother. And your brother is broken, Murtagh, admit it; he will be doomed to wander the lands of Alagaesia, for no one welcomes his presence. So that is why I had to do this. No one in the Varden can stand as your equal now."

"What is it you want from me then, Linasi? I gave you the egg; isn't that enough? Did Nasuada send you?"

"Nasuada gave me the freedom to do what I wish. And as for the egg, what can one rider do against two? That is why I have come. Forcing you to pledge your loyalties to the Varden would have been the best, holding your brother's life as hostage; but that would conflict with your oaths to the king, and I am not as powerful as him. Therefore, fortunately for you…" Linasi grinned, "I will only have you do one thing: Swear in the ancient language that you will come when summoned to do three things for me, no matter the cost."

Murtagh drew in a breath. "What three things?"

"I do not know yet. But when the time comes…I will."

The rider hesitated. Thorn was silent, watching the scene with hard eyes. The sorceress shrugged and said, "Your brother is barely breathing now, Murtagh."

Murtagh looked back into the tent and saw that Linasi was right. Eragon was not moving. He sighed. "Yes, then. But you have to make an oath that you will give me the antidote and the real herbs once I have sworn."

Linasi nodded and spoke the oath. Murtagh followed. A few moments later, a small box was in Murtagh's hands and the sorceress was long gone, riding away with her men.

The red rider was silent when he gave the antidote to his brother, and he didn't say a word when he put the un-poisoned _Veintifalas _on his brother's wounds.

_His bones will heal._

_You are risking much for your brother, Murtagh._

_I can't just let him die like that._ The rider replied.

Murtagh watched Eragon's sleeping face. It seemed far more peaceful now. He remembered the words his brother had said during his delirious state:

_Arya, forgive me…_

There were certainly things that Eragon wasn't telling him. Murtagh had just decided to do something that he might regret for the rest of his life; but the rider thought that it had to be done. Taking a deep breath, he dove into Eragon's memories, hiding himself as best as possible to avoid being noticed by Eragon's weak but still sharp mind.

An hour later, Murtagh emerged, shaking, from the tent. He was right. He had found the hidden memories, and he planned to do something about it. Eragon clearly wanted to forget it all, but Murtagh knew that it would be impossible. The feelings ran too deep.

Breathing in the fresh air of the morning, he thought about the memories he had just seen. Eragon would never forgive him if he knew that his elder brother had broken into his mind without permission. But it had to happen. Eragon was keeping to much emotions inside him.

"Lord rider?"

Murtagh turned around and saw a young messenger kneeling before him. "Yes?"

"His majesty wishes you to know that the city of Melian has been taken by the rebels. The king orders you to make haste and return to the palace as soon as possible."

"Ren! Sarocev!" shouted Murtagh.

Two soldiers hurried to Murtagh. "Yes, my lord?"

"Watch over the shade inside. I will be gone for a day."

"Sir—" but Murtagh had already swung himself on his ruby red dragon and began to fly _west_. He had some things to do before he went to the king.

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Darn. Again, my computer is starting to do some strange things. Hopefully, I'll be able to get it right by Monday. Oh, and please review!


	33. Chapter 33

Due to some strange and unforeseen circumstances, I am now using a new computer! No, it is not because of my original laptop's breakdown. I'll just say that I got the computer from a relative who had no use for it.

Shocking! The review count is now nearly 200! I love you people!

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There was a celebration held in the city of Melian. The gods knew that the Varden needed the joy after all the hardships they had faced during the past few weeks. 

The attack on the city had been surprisingly successful. Melian was a city that was fortified well enough, but it lacked soldiers. Most men in the southern parts of the Empire had gone to fight in the Battle of the Burning Plains, and few returned from the devastating defeat. It was a bold strike, and it was a victory that helped the people of the Varden regain confidence after the horrifying death of the blue rider.

The celebrations were going on very well. Everyone was making merry, and couples danced in the great hall. Every person seemed to be happy…except one.

Arya sat near a table at the edge of the party. Though she had played a vital part in the capture, she felt no joy, no thrill of victory. She refused to speak to anyone, save a few that she knew better.

A finger suddenly tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, the elf turned around; she had sensed nothing with her mind. Then a familiar deep voice whispered in her pointed ears.

"Dance with me, Lady Arya. We have much to talk about."

Arya's hand immediately flew to her sword, but Murtagh was quicker. His hand caught her wrist and he continued on as if nothing had happened. "I have little time. Do you wish to dance, or not?"

The elf's face hardened for a second, but Arya nodded slightly and took Murtagh's hand in hers, and they both walked toward the center of the party.

Murtagh looked completely different. His skin was paler, features more refined, and yet his face held a haughtiness that Arya had seen in spoiled young nobles. The illusion spell worked well on him.

"Why have you come?" whispered Arya as Murtagh slid an arm around her waist.

"To find out more." To anyone else, Murtagh seemed to be enjoying himself. Only Arya could see the grim light in the rider's eyes.

"To find out more about what?" Arya's voice was as quiet as his.

"Many things, of course. Like why Eragon has a scar on his face, and why he wandered without meaning, lost, in the wilderness for more than a week after he got the wound. When I talked to him, he said he had wandered around for only a few days. I saw the lie in his eyes straight away. All links back to you, Lady Arya."

"Why? I don't see how—"

"You are lying, Arya svit-kona." The elf flinched at the respective title. "That was what Eragon used to call you, is it not? It is possible that you feel guilt?" Murtagh twirled them around, his movements graceful. "Yes, I have to admit that I sifted through his memories. I had to make sure that he was no danger to himself."

Arya was silent.

"The ambush in Tinriel forest was a mess, no doubt. But being an experienced elf that has trained with swords all her life, you must have understood what exactly happened."

Arya was again quiet.

"I saw the duel, or whatever it was, through the memories. I saw his blade clash with yours, and any swordsman could tell you the right movements to attack or to defend. But he pulled away, leaving his defenses wide open. He refused to fight. Then your sword struck out."

"He nearly killed Nasuada. He deserved to die, even though he escaped. The wound on Nasuada's back was horrible to look at." Arya's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You have not yet dueled with Eragon in a fair match. You do not know what he is capable of. Shall I enlighten you?" Murtagh grinned and lowered the barriers around the most joyful memory he had gotten recently, and pushed them into Arya's mind. The sparring match with Eragon beside the Jiet River.

Arya stood still for a second, shocked by what she just saw; but she hid her emotions quickly under the mask that she always wore.

"You have seen for yourself what he can do. If he slashed out from the back, it would have been impossible for Nasuada to survive."

"Maybe he feared discovery by the guards and misjudged his skills."

"Impossible." Said Murtagh with a wave of his hand. "He is no longer fears anything now, except you. Do you see now? He practically worships you."

"Is that why you came? To speak meaninglessly about things of the past?" The beautiful face betrayed no emotion.

"Of course not. And those things that I just spoke of are not meaningless to you or to me. But first, I shall ask you something: has anything happened to the egg?"

"What egg?" Murtagh could sense that the elf was relieved that he had changed the subject.

"Don't try to fool me, elf. I gave it to the Varden myself, though reluctantly."

"It is ours now. Do not attempt to steal it, traitor."

"I do not want to, though it would be extremely easy to do so. But before I give you a demonstration of how the Varden lack proper protection of what they deem important, I will again ask you a question. Do you love Eragon?"

"No." The answer came out unnaturally fast.

Murtagh smiled. "You lie." There was a flash of silver light and a man a bowshot away from them crumpled to the ground. To Arya's horror, it was Jormundur.

A roar sounded from outside, full of anger.

The red rider suddenly cursed and twisted the elf's hand, palm facing upwards. There was a silver oval on her palm.

"Shur'tugal…" hissed Murtagh, as he leapt out the window and disappeared into the night.

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Read and review, people!


	34. Chapter 34

Murtagh ran as fast as he could from the city. _The elf is the new rider…_ Thorn was shocked as well.

_The Varden have a rider now, Thorn. More powerful than Eragon ever was when he was in their service._

_I worry about the fate of the Empire, Murtagh._

_So do I._

Murtagh was silent for a while. _Thorn… I may be mistaken, but when I felt out with my mind, what I sensed was a female presence that was the dragon instead of a male one. Do you think that the king was wrong in his divining?_

Thorn was equally confused. _I do not know. However, it is possible that the hatchling within the egg deceived him, though it is highly unlikely._

_Deceive? Why? _Asked Murtagh.

_Dragons know much about what is happening in the land, even before they hatch. The hatchling must have known that to keep one of the last dragons in Alagaesia, Saphira, safe, she had to pretend to be male._

Murtagh's eyes widened._ Is that possible?_

_It is._

The crimson dragon swooped down and caught the rider in its claws, flying to their camp beside Furnost.

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Everything in the camp was the same as they had left it. But Eragon was nowhere to be seen.

Ren and Sarocev, the guards assigned to protect Eragon, said they had seen nothing. One moment the Shade was there; the other moment he wasn't. The two men were literally quaking with fear because of their failure. To their surprise, Murtagh wearily dismissed them and said nothing more. He had found a small line of words carved on the edge of the wooden bed.

_Murtagh,_

_I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused. Wherever I go, misfortune follows. I am grateful for the help you have given me, but I cannot stay any longer. Your world is not mine._

_Eragon_

Murtagh knew it would be long before he saw his brother again. And he was right.

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_Ten years after the__ recorded__ death of Eragon Shadeslayer_

It was a cold night in the city of Cithri.

A group of travelers huddled around the fireplace in the inn. All of the rooms were taken, and they had to do the best they could with the small flame in the room. A middle aged woman was also there, with a young girl who looked to be around fourteen or fifteen years of age. A strange looking cat was sleeping in the corner

"Curse this foul fortune." Growled a man with a huge black beard, breaking the silence. "Nothing's been right these years. Droughts, wars, forced conscriptions from both the Empire _and_ the Varden, people starving on the streets… and now this foul weather." The man took out a pipe and lit it.

"Aye." Agreed another man across the room. "Nothing seems to be right. The Varden and the Empire no longer have any difference. Both are thieving groups of bastards that don't give a damn about the people.

The young girl shifted slightly but said nothing.

"Nah." Replied a trader. "Only the leaders of the two warring nations are what you call ruthless. You should hear the praise they have for the two riders in Melian."

The bearded man raised an eyebrow. "The Lady Arya and the red rider? What about them? I thought they worked on different sides!"

"Both are respected by all people who know them." Was the reply. "And since the city of Melian is the place where the main conflict of the war is, they fight each other often; but it is often like a sparring match, I am told, and they have a strange relationship."

"How so?"

"I don't know myself. But just a week ago, I met a man from Melian who told me something very peculiar. He said that the soldiers of the red rider were almost successful in taking down the city gates a few days earlier in a great battle, but a magician or somesuch of the Du Vrangr Gata met with him under the walls. It was strange, he said. The red rider acted like a mouse in the same room as a cat. The magician talked to him for a few minutes, and when they were finished, the red rider and his men marched straight away from the city without a glance behind, just when victory was within his grasp."

"Do you know why?"

"Of course not."

A silence set in, each person thinking of what they had just heard. Another young man stirred and spoke.

"Strange happenings, indeed. But have you heard about the siege of Feinster? The Varden sent seven thousand soldiers to take the city a few months ago to ensure their control over the south of the Empire. The siege continued on for twenty days, which was an amazing feat, for there were little more than five hundred men in the city. But at last, the city fell, and the remaining soldiers of the Feinster Guard in one last suicidal attempt broke through the surrounding Varden soldiers and made their way to Dras-Leona to find refuge. And do you know what happened?" The man seemed to be on the verge of tears. "The commander of the Feinster Guard and his entire family was executed for treason by the order of Marcus Tabor, who said he was doing _the king's will_. It was complete rubbish. Rivaroc, the commander of the Guard, had spent all his skill on defending the city, waiting for reinforcements that wouldn't come. Marcus Tabor executed him just because they were old enemies."

Another trader's eyes widened. "But there are rumors that the Lord of Dras-Leona's head was found impaled on the highest spire of the cathedral a few months ago! Those in the city mutter that it was a punishment from Helgrind itself. Does this have to do with the tale you are speaking of?"

"It does indeed. Rivaroc's young son, Cervenr, had traveled to Gil'ead on business before the siege had started, and when he heard the rumors of the execution of his father, he believed them right away; for he knew in his heart that it was true. When he was caught up in his anguish, a cloaked man stopped by him, and asked him what was wrong." The young man paused for a moment, a distant look in his eyes. "It was known later to Cervenr that the man was the one called the Shadow Rider."

There were some gasps in the room. The young girl had a puzzled expression on her face. "Who is this 'Shadow Rider'?" Her voice was mature beyond her apparent years.

The bearded man chuckled. "He is too complex to be spoken of easily. Listen to the story; you'll learn more about him than you will by listening to us."

The young man continued. "He listened to Cervenr's story and was furious. The Shadow Rider immediately began to race toward Dras-Leona, without any help whatsoever from horses. He got there in less than half a day, and during the night, he beheaded Marcus Tabor's head and stuck the head on top of the cathedral."

"But that is impossible." A scarred man objected. "The trip from Gil'ead to Dras-Leona would take weeks, even if you go on horseback; and I have seen the cathedral of Dras-Leona on my travels and I do not believe that a man could reach the top."

"The Shadow Rider is not a man. No one knows who he is. All that is certain is that he is immensely powerful, and he has lost his left arm." The young man replied.

"Proof that this story is the product of over imaginative minds. If this Shadow Rider is so powerful, what in Alagaesia would have the ability to make him lose his arm?" The scarred man sneered. "He is just a myth."

The young man who had been telling the story hesitated, and said something that surprised everyone in the room. "He is real." He muttered. "For I am Cervenr, son of Rivaroc. I had wished that I could keep my identity secret, as there is a large reward set upon my capture; but when it comes to the man I am in debt to, I cannot be secretive anymore."

The bearded man clapped his hands and smiled. "You are a good man, Cervenr. I will take on any scum here that blurts out your identity myself." Several other men said similar things of approval.

The young girl blinked. "I am sorry, but I still do not know who the Shadow Rider is. Could anyone tell me?"

The bearded man chuckled again and said, "Inquisitive, aren't you? Very well!" The man sighed and leaned closer to the fire. "Young Cevenr is right; no one really knows who he is and where he came from. He calls himself Arkiloth, and he wanders where he pleases, without meaning. His name came from his ability to use the shadows to his will, and vanish into them with ease; then he would appear leagues away. No one knows how he does it. He hates the Varden and despises the Empire, much like ourselves." He laughed and continued. "I heard from a friend of mine that rumors say that he goes north to Du Weldenvarden every year at a certain time where he stops just outside the boundaries of the forest and stands there. Motionless, for more than two days. No one's dared ask him why."

The young girl sighed. The woman beside her said, "Now, now, Elva, this Shadow Rider is clearly a dodgy sort of character. It would be best if you steered clear away from him."

"Nonetheless, I would like to see him. He seems very interesting." The girl was silent for a while, deep in thought.

A tall, lithe man suddenly stood up and walked up to her. "Lady, you wish to see the Shadow Rider?" The man wore a traveling cloak, and a belt with several short knives strapped to it was visible underneath. On his face was a wry grin. "If you wish to see him, follow me. For I and my friends have a… ah, meeting with him a few hours from now. Would you care to join us?"

The girl looked up with an excited look on her face. "Is it true that you can take me to him?"

"Of course." Was the smooth reply. Grabbing Elva's hand, the man kicked open the door and pushed the girl onto a horse standing on the snowy grounds outside. The duo vanished before anyone knew what was going on.

The woman cursed and stood up. Then her face went blank for a moment before sitting down reluctantly. The cat in the corner of the room was awake now, and it had an amused expression on its face.

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Sorry if it's moving a bit fast. I just don't know what to stick in, so this chapter, though long, might be a bit confusing.

Reviews! And please criticize me so I know where my writing went wrong!


	35. Chapter 35

The past chapter was a little confusing, but I tell you this: The confusing parts almost have nothing to do with the plot.

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The horse Elva was riding on was a fine animal, racing out of the city nimbly. Her black hair was fluttering in the gusts of wind that blew everywhere, and her face was pale with excitement.

The man sitting behind her was silent, apparently deep in thought. Then without warning, he pulled on the reins and stopped the horse at a small forest just in sight of Cithri.

Eleven men were standing there with their own horses, and all had weapons. "You're late, Farnos." Grunted a tall man with a spear.

"Just taking care of some business." Farnos replied. He slid off the horse and helped Elva off as well.

A fat man snorted. "And who is that pretty lass you have with you? We're about to put our lives on the edge of a knife and you're still worrying who you're going to sleep with." A few grim laughs came from some of the men.

Farnos shrugged off the jibe. "She wanted to see the Shadow Rider, so I brought her. She will not get in the way. Better yet, we could let her see the defeat of Arkiloth. Rumors would spread easily through her."

A few men nodded, but a few frowned. "Let's get going then!" Shouted Farnos over the howling wind.

All of the men nodded and jumped onto their horses. Farnos stooped and carried the girl onto his horse before he leapt on as well, riding into the forest.

Elva was getting nervous. These people were clearly dangerous, and they seemed to be on unfriendly terms with the man she had come to find. But she did not doubt her original decision to follow Farnos.

The man bent down and whispered in her ear, "Do not come in our way when we conduct our business." Farnos' accent was clearly upper-class, though Elva did not know why. "I will not harm you; but the men around us are killers by nature. If you upset them in any small way, even I won't be able to protect you." Elva nodded quietly. "Ah, and we will be nearing our destination in a moment. He said himself that he would be meeting us there—"

"Hellfire!" A man in front of the group suddenly swore. A black arrow had just flown past in front of his eyes. Shadowy shapes suddenly jumped down from the trees around them, and the horses snorted in fear.

"Urgals!" Cried a man before he pulled out his sword and started trading blows with several of the monsters. The others shouted out in surprise and drew their own weapons. Farnos drew out two short knives and twirled them in his hands as he jumped off his horse. Then as suddenly as it had started, the Urgals backed away and surrounded them, growling. The men tensed and readied their blades.

What seemed like hours later, a tall Urgal stepped up towards them. He growled, and said, "Those who are not by the name of Geran, leave with haste! Our business is with him and him alone!"

A man swore in anger. "What do you want of me, beasts?"

The leader of the Urgals roared in anger. "You killed the chieftain's only cub, human, on your outrageous hunting rides. We were given the duty to slay you, and burn your body to ashes!" The other Urgals bellowed and shook their shields.

"Geran will not stand alone! We will be with him till death!" The other men cried out in agreement. Farnos said quietly to Elva, "Leave here. It is not safe for you to be with us."

"But—"

A sudden voice came from the trees above. "So this is the why the Twelve of the Tendor Mountains were late. Caught up in a small argument with Urgals, aren't they?" A cloaked man stood on one of the swaying branches of a large oak tree, looking down at them. His head was hooded, and Elva couldn't see his face.

"Arkiloth…" whispered a man.

The leader of the Urgals grunted and tilted back his head. "I am honored to meet one so great."

"As am I. Now, would you be so kind as to call off your warriors? I happen to have a meeting with these men." The cloaked man replied, motioning to the twelve men beneath him. His gaze passed onto Elva and he inclined his head a little, seemingly surprised by the sight.

The Urgal shook his head. "Our chieftain wants revenge on the one who has taken away his flesh and blood. The killer's brothers wish to fight with him, but we will still finish what we have to do."

"You won't." answered the man calmly. "I cannot have a contest of skill with twelve dead men. Leave this place now. I will have a word with your chieftain myself."

The leader bared his teeth at the barely concealed arrogance. "And why do I have to follow your orders, human? We will slay them all!"

"That neck better be stronger than the words you're boasting out, monster." spat one man. "Because I'm going to run my sword right through it."

The Urgals roared in anger and charged toward the men in the center. Utter havoc followed. The horses were snorting in fright, men and Urgal alike were cursing and swearing, blades clashed and stray arrows flew everywhere. Elva was shocked and backed away from the battle. Someone touched her on the shoulder, and she almost fainted from the fear and wonder.

Arkiloth sighed and motioned for Elva to cover her ears. "Block your mind as well as you can. I know you can do it." He said quietly. Uncertainly, Elva stuck her fingers into her ears and began fortifying her mind. Angela the witch had taught her the way a long time ago. As she was finishing it, an earsplitting shriek echoed through the darkness, covering all the sounds of battle.

The unholy shriek tore through her mind and body before she could seal it off completely. The raw savageness and brutality shocked the girl, and even with her ears covered, she could still hear the piercing sound that was both mental and physical. Closing her eyes, she waited for it to end.

When she opened her eyes again, all the men and Urgals were lying on the ground, stunned from the power of Arkiloth's mind. The horses had run off into the night, and the hoof prints were still fresh in the snow.

Arkiloth was leaning on a tree a few yards away from the group. Elva saw that even though it was covered by the black cloak, his severed limb was obvious to the keen eyed.

Elva kept quiet. She had no inkling of what Arkiloth was and she dared not ask. Instead, she waited beside the cloaked man silently, waiting for the stunned men to recover.

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Okay then. Arkiloth won't be god almighty in my story; hey, you know who he was, right? The person he was had the same problems he has now. Just watch.

Read and review! Hopefully, this wasn't as confusing as the last chapter.


	36. Chapter 36

Over 200 reviews! I can't believe it… Thanks!

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Farnos was the first to recover. Groaning, he sat up and rubbed is temples slowly. Reaching out one hand, Arkiloth pulled him up and handed him his fallen knives. It was then when Elva saw the black mark on Arkiloth's palm.

It was the exact shape of a Shur'tugal's gedwëy ignasia.

_Shadow Rider__…_

A few moments later, all the men had awoken. The Urgals had been attacked full force by Arkiloth, while the men were only touched a little.

Arkiloth drew his sword. "Now that you have recovered, will you follow the original agreement and fight?" Elva saw that, to her surprise, Arkiloth's blade was battered and worn. It was clearly of human make, and the edges were dull and blunt.

Farnos bowed and sighed. "I know that we cannot defeat you. Kill me if you wish. I do not want to play in a helpless duel before my death." Throwing his two knives to the ground, he faced Arkiloth, head held high. The remaining men grunted and threw down their weapons as well.

Arkiloth laughed. "Well then, it seems that our problems are solved. Go then. I have nothing else to do with you _bandits_." Still laughing quietly, he walked out of the forest, leaving twelve confused and relieved men behind.

Elva hurried after the leaving form. "Lord Arkiloth! Lord Arkiloth! Wait!" But he didn't seem to hear the voice. It was as if he was floating slowly away through the snow. Elva ran as fast as she could toward the man. She had been blessed with superior strength and agility as long as she could remember; but slowly Arkiloth was getting farther and farther away, though it seemed as if he didn't spend any effort at all.

Finally, Elva tripped on a stone hidden beneath the snow, and fell face forward. To her surprise, she did not hit the ground.

"You are swift on your feet." Murmured a voice above her. A hand had grabbed the back of her coat to keep her from falling._How did he come back so fast?_ "I would of suspected elf blood if I hadn't seen your ears." Pulling her upright, Arkiloth studied her. Elva was glad that her long black hair covered the already barely noticeable star shaped mark on her brow.

"Strange magical energies are in your blood, child. What had happened to you?" Elva could hear interest in his voice.

"I don't know, sir. I don't remember. And no one has told me about it. Other magicians have talked to me about it, but they don't know either."

"Don't call me sir. So, why did you come?"

"I wanted to see you." Elva replied.

"Foolish girl." Said Arkiloth gently. "It is much too dangerous."

"I don't care about danger."

Elva thought she saw a flash of red eyes beneath the hood. "You don't? We have something in common then. Well… if you came to find me, I will not disappoint. Come." Arkiloth took her hand and began to run.

Excitement ran through Elva's veins. "Where are we going?"

"Du Weldenvarden."

Elva nodded. "Why? I heard from a man say that you visit the great forest once a year."

"Because… it's a beautiful place." Replied Arkiloth. Elva thought she sensed some bitterness in the words.

Then the conversation came. Elva was slightly nervous about talking to one of the most powerful beings in Alagaesia, but the words came out easier than she expected. Arkiloth seemed to be enjoying the small talk as well, though the girl had no idea why. They talked about recent rumors, landscapes, sparring and all sorts of things. Then Elva asked him about the hood.

"I always keep my hood on to prevent those who have known me from recognizing my face." He replied. "It's much easier to get around as well. I don't exactly look…" his voice trailed off. "I think I sensed a cave less than half a league from here. We could stay there for the night." Doubling his pace, Arkiloth held onto Elva's hand even tighter and ran through the falling snow.

The cave was fairly large and dry, more than enough for two people. Arkiloth sat down with a sigh and leaned against the wall of the cavern. Still eager to know more, Elva asked a question that had been troubling her for a long time.

"Can you use magic?"

"No." Arkiloth sounded grim when he said the word.

"Cannot or will not?" asked Elva.

"Both."

Elva frowned at the strange answer but said nothing. Arkiloth took out a small flute from under his cloak and started fingering it.

"May I see that?" Elva questioned. Without a word, Arkiloth handed it to her.

The flute was clearly made by elven hands, delicately carved and decorated. It had a faint smell of crushed pine-needles. Elva had seen its kind before. It was one of the elven instruments that could be played with one hand.

Elva handed it back to Arkiloth. "Why do you carry this with you?"

"It helps me remember… and forget." Arkiloth was silent for a moment. "You wouldn't believe how much trouble I had gone through to have this made." He put the flute to his lips and blew out a long, mournful note.

"The scent of the flute seems familiar to me." Said Elva absently. "I think that I met an elf—"

The words had a far larger impact then she had expected. Arkiloth choked and the flute fell from his hands. His hood slid back a fraction and Elva saw a few strands of blood red hair.

Silently, Arkiloth lay back down and didn't say another word until dawn.

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You're all smart, so you can all see where I'm driving at, eh? Reviews!


	37. Chapter 37

I will be busy this week, so updates may come slower. Oh well.

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Arkiloth seemed to have returned to normal the following day. But Elva noticed that his steps were a little heavier than usual and he talked less. The ability to sense other people's emotions through small things like these were also a gift from the girl's forgotten past.

"We are around Dras-Leona now, if my senses are correct." Announced Arkiloth a few hours after they left the cave. "Since I am traveling with you, it would do us good if we bought some horses from the city."

"But won't the people of the city—"

"Think me queer?" Elva thought she heard amusement in his voice. "It wouldn't be the first time, and it won't be the last. I'm more concerned about _you, _however. Most ordinary people of both the Empire and the Varden have now learned to use a blade in order to protect themselves; it has become a needed skill to survive. Keep close to me."

Elva nodded. Still curious about Arkiloth, she asked, "May I see your face?"

Arkiloth was silent for a couple of seconds. "Why?" he asked.

"I cannot say that I met you if I haven't seen the man under the hood." The girl replied.

"You are sure?"

"I must see."

Arkiloth drew in a long breath. "Alright then." Slowly, he pulled the hood off his head.

Elva had to stop herself from gasping. The man in front of her was nothing like she had ever seen before. His blood red hair was the thing that she noticed first. Then it was the angled and handsome face, strikingly similar to that of an elf. A thin scar ran down from his right eye to the corner of his mouth. The crimson eyes were the last to be taken in, but they were a sight that Elva would never forget.

"Surprised?" asked Arkiloth in a somewhat quiet voice.

"What are you? A shade?" stammered Elva.

"Once every race held me as one of them… humans, elves, dwarves, and I had even gained the respect of the Urgals." Arkiloth sighed. "Now even I do not know what I am. I only know that I am not a shade, for I still have control over my mind."

Then Elva noticed the pointed ears. "You were once an elf?"

"Yes and no." Arkiloth pulled on his hood again. "Come. Dras-Leona is mere minutes away." He paused for a moment. "I would prefer if you do not talk about how I look to people that you do not know. I have many enemies."

Suddenly, Arkiloth stiffened and drew his battered sword. "Keep quiet." He ordered, and looked up into the sky. Puzzled, Elva raised her head as well.

To see a giant ruby red dragon flying above them.

Arkiloth was motionless as the dragon landed before him. Elva was striken._ The red rider!_

A man in a cloak leapt off the dragon gracefully and walked towards the pair. "Haven't seen you for quite a while." He said with a smiling face. To Elva's astonishment, the face was extremely similar to that of Arkiloth's.

"How did you find me?" muttered Arkiloth. If the hood was pulled down, Elva thought that she would see an ashen face.

"Simple. But first, I have to ask you about what happened last night. For more than a minute your barriers failed and noticed your presence to every magician in Alagaesia. What happened?"

"I was weary."

"You lie." Said Murtagh with a small smirk.

"Yes. But don't expect any other answer."

"I wasn't. So who is this girl you have with you?"

"Someone I met on the road. She wanted to meet me."

"She did, didn't she?" Murtagh was grinning.

"Shut up." Hissed Arkiloth. "Don't think that I don't know what happened before the gates of Melian."

Murtagh let out a strangled sound. "It was because of you that I had to make the oath in the first place!"

"I'm grateful. But the story was amusing nonetheless."

Murtagh snarled and drew out Zar'roc. Arkiloth readied his sword as well. "Is it true that two years ago dwarves sealed you up in their tunnels and it took you a month to escape?" Murtagh taunted.

"How the —Is it true that three years ago the Varden's rider completely humiliated you in front of the whole city?"

"I was drunk the night before!"

Their blades clashed. Elva had never seen a duel so fast and intense. Arkiloth slashed at every weakness, vicious and deadly as a striking snake, while Murtagh was parrying frantically. Arkiloth was relentlessly battering down the red rider's defenses, but Murtagh didn't back down.

There was a snap and Arkiloth's sword broke off, landing in the snow several yards away. Seizing the chance, Murtagh kicked him in the stomach, and Arkiloth crumpled to ground with a groan. The next thing he felt was the cold point of Za'roc touching him under his chin.

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Murtagh's back! Reviews! 


	38. Chapter 38

Murtagh grimaced and sheathed his sword. "You should really consider getting a better blade." He said, motioning to the snapped sword lying a few yards away.

Arkiloth stood up and took off his hood. Elva gasped once again. It was obvious that the two men were related in some way, as she compared their faces.

"A skilled swordsman does not care about the blade. It does not matter what sword I use against foes." Arkiloth replied.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "We both know that if you had used an elven made sword you could have defeated me in mere minutes."

"The last time I dueled with a rider was ten years ago. I did not think that preparing for such a battle again was ever necessary." Arkiloth had a faint smile on his lips.

Murtagh chuckled and embraced him.

Elva watched dumbfounded from behind them. Shaking her head slightly, she turned around and saw a green spot appear suddenly near the horizon.

She immediately realized what it was.

Her mind raced. _Should I tell them?_ But then Arkiloth reeled back, face as pale and white as the snow.

She needn't have worried. Murtagh felt it as well. The red rider's hand immediately went to his sword, while Arkiloth's fingers flew to the scar on his face. Murtagh's reaction was that of surprise and alertness; but Arkiloth's expression was filled with utter shock and horror. A wild light had crept into his eyes, and it was the same look Elva had seen on cornered animals. Expression strange, he stumbled into the forest without a word.

Murtagh looked grimly at the green dragon approaching them. Thorn was tensed and ready to attack.

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Eragon stumbled blindly on. Emotions he had used a decade to bury were resurfacing once more, and nothing he could do could stop them. The fear, sorrow, anger… again they came to him.

He could remember that night so clearly. The emerald green eyes, the sword slicing into his face, the feeling of his heart dying, rotting…

He stumbled blindly on.

"Arkiloth! Wait!"

Eragon slowly turned around to the sound.

It was the little girl that he had brought with him a day ago. She was intriguing; her fearless attitude, rashness, and there was something that Eragon found in her that made her so enjoyable to be with.

"Arkiloth! Where are you going?"

"Somewhere I can meditate alone." Replied Eragon quietly.

"Why are you running away?"

"I am not running away!" whispered Eragon through gritted teeth. "I just… I…need to be alone…"

"Why?"

Eragon forced a small chuckle. "Full of questions, aren't you?"

"Everyone says so." The girl sat down beside him.

Eragon smiled again. "I've got the same comment many times when I was younger." Then a thought struck him. "And now I'll ask a question of my own. I'm not sure if this is the right time, but what is your name?"

The girl grinned. "Elva."

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Arya silently jumped off her dragon. "You felt it?" she asked, not looking at Murtagh.

"I felt it, I talked with it and I dueled with it." Growled Murtagh. "And do you know what he did when you came? He ran away." Running his fingers through his hair, Murtagh sighed. "You know that his emotions run him, though he lets none see it now. You should hear the tales they tell in the inns. Cold, emotionless, letting out a small laugh only seldom… that's the Shadow Rider they know. I can only imagine the look on his face when he learned of his new title."

Arya sighed and said nothing.

Murtagh groaned and threw back his head. "Ten years, elf. Ten years. Things are spinning out of control. The Varden are just as corrupt as the Empire, the elves are talking of backing into the woods again, the dwarf clans are warring against each other, and the best thing is that my younger brother has been running around the land heartbroken for a whole damn decade!" Murtagh viciously kicked a small gray stone. "I don't even have the will power to rebel anymore." He added softly.

Arya didn't respond. Instead, she threw her arms around Murtagh and tears started to flow out of her green eyes.

Murtagh's eyes went wide. Expression strange, he uncertainly put a comforting hand on the elf's back. "Calm." He murmured. Wiping away Arya's tears, he gave a small chuckle. "If Eragon saw that, he would kill me." He whispered into the elf's pointed ear.

Suddenly, a familiar immense surge of power ran through their minds. That meant only one thing.

"The Shadow Rider's in trouble again. He does have the ability to attract the unpleasant." Said Murtagh as he drew Zar'roc. Arya nodded slowly as well.

The Shadow Rider was Eragon, after all.

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Eragon was shocked. Nothing in the world could of prepared him for this._ Elva._ That was the reason the magicks in her blood seemed familiar. That was the reason Eragon found so much of himself inside the little girl. That was the reason Eragon thought his emotions were like an open book under her dark eyes…

The past had come to haunt him.

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I am very sorry that I updated so late… I was on vacation. And I had a major writer's block. AND I was too fascinated with other fanfics.

Anyway… review!


	39. Chapter 39

Eragon took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. His carefully controlled life was going insane. First Murtagh, then Arya, then the knowledge that the girl that he once cursed was now sitting before him. _Elva_.

To make matters worse, Elva said one thing that he would of thought impossible.

"You… You're Eragon Shadeslayer, aren't you?"

Eragon choked. Trying to recover, he asked quietly, "What makes you think I would be him?"

Elva looked a bit confused for a moment. Then she whispered, "I don't know… I just have this sense. Whenever I try to ask about my past, people always mutter things about this _Eragon_ when they think I cannot hear them." She paused, with a distant look in her eyes. "They say he is dead when the topic of him is brought up. The leaders of the Varden have made him into a hero, a god; one that every soldier should look upon. The first rider in the whole history of Alagaesia that has successfully killed two Shades!" She chuckled grimly. "The shade Durza in the battle of Farthen Dur, the unknown shade that took Eragon's life; both victims of the brave rider that slew them with amazing skill and magic!"

"Then he should be dead. I am not him." Replied Eragon, clenching his fists tightly.

Elva sighed. "You hide your emotions well. But they are there." Elva grimaced. "I've tried to talk to people who have known you. Most are sorry that you have died, but when meeting certain people that know you best… it is obvious that they are hiding something. Something important."

"Eragon Shadeslayer died a decade ago." Muttered Eragon through gritted teeth.

"Is that why you choose to escape the past? Because you fear that part that has died within you?"

"Shut up!" Screamed Eragon. His eyes flared with a sudden red gleam, and suddenly, it became darker in the forest, as if night had come. Soon, the only things Elva could see were the crimson eyes glaring at her in the shadows.

Swallowing back her fear, Elva continued. She had to make him see sense. The Varden needed him. "Why have you left your friends, Shadeslayer?"

Two dark tendrils of magic, barely visible in the blackness of her surroundings, shot toward her and wrapped themselves around her limbs. The stifling darkness lifted slightly and Elva saw that Eragon was looking at his palm. A black circle was branded on it.

"I left them?" Eragon's voice was curiously controlled, unemotional. "I left them?" The black magic that had been holding Elva suddenly faded, dropping her to the ground. "I left them?" He whispered finally, as he drifted off.

Elva was fixed to the spot. She didn't even look up when Murtagh burst into the clearing.

-----------------------

Elva slowly wrapped herself up in a thin blanket, warming herself beside a small fire. An elf was sitting against her emerald green dragon not ten paces from her.

"Lady Arya?"

The raven haired elf opened her eyes and looked across at her with a questioning glance.

"May I…ask you a question?" Elva asked quietly.

"Of course." Replied the elf calmly. The mask wasn't working. Elva could sense the maelstrom of emotions hidden inside her.

"What is your past with… the red rider… and, Arkiloth?"

Elva felt as if she had stepped over an invisible line when she said those words. But she had to know.

Arya slightly stiffened; only Elva could see the tightening of her hands.

"The red rider is a traitor." She stated simply. "The Shadow Rider is an outlaw and a thief."

"Arkiloth is a thief? What—"

"He stole the dwarven hammer Volund from Farthen Dur two years ago. He broke into the Surdan palace five years ago and stole the swords of both Lady Nasuada and King Orrin." Arya seemed to be getting restless. "He even had the nerve to travel to Du Weldenvarden to steal the sword of Queen Islanzadi."

"But why?"

"He is spiteful." Arya stood up and looked up at the stars above. "He has never been one to forgive. He is held in respect in most parts of the darker side of Alagaesia these years, because he is swift in thought and in movement when carrying out his plans."

"The darker side of Alagaesia?"

"Thieves, bandits, pirates, rebels within the Varden… almost all would answer his call if he wished it. Rumors say that on his travels, he would sometimes teach some of his skills to those he deem worthy. And they say that these apprentices are all fearsome swordsmen, unmatchable by neither human nor elf."

"Then why did he run away from you?" Elva asked, hoping that her sudden question would throw the elf off guard.

It did. The elf noticeably paled and fell silent, much to Elva's dismay. She had been hoping that she could get some true answers after Arkiloth had left. But instead, Arya closed her eyes and said nothing more.

Elva sighed and wrapped herself up more tightly. It was cold. To her surprise, the elf noticed, and stood up to hand her an extra blanket.

"Sleep. We will have to travel much tomorrow if we are to return to Surda." Arya said softly.

Elva thanked her quietly and laid down. Yes, there was something wrong between the elf and the Shadow Rider.

She could feel it.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm sorry for the late update, it's just so hard. I just have trouble linking all my plots together. I have plans for a sequel, so I have to make sure everything fits. I hate it when it doesn't. Advice is greatly needed, because I think I'm losing my touch.


	40. Chapter 40

_Two days later._

The crunch of gravel under his boots was an irritating sound to him. The dark figure lifted his head and looked up into the starry sky. So much had happened in so short a time… he wondered if he was sane anymore. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Arkiloth flung away his empty sword sheath and walked into one of the many inns in Dras-Leona.

The inn was quiet and dirty. A few people sat in various dark corners, dressed in clothes little better than rags. Ordering himself a small drink, Arkiloth found a chair and sat on it, trying to forget what happened to him.

_What is going on?_

Frustrated, he slammed his fist onto the table. It was all going wrong. He was not supposed to meet any of them. He wasn't supposed to meet his past. He wasn't supposed to be the Shadow Rider.

A knife point suddenly pierced his hood and touched the back of his throat. Arkiloth cursed inwardly. Distracting thoughts had clouded his common sense, and now some street thug was attempting to rob him.

"Hand o'er the crowns…" the man hissed in his ear. His breath smelled of stale beer.

Arkiloth didn't move.

"Hand them o'er, boy… too scared to move? Well, I guess I'll get 'em misself." The man sniggered and attempted to thrust the knife further in.

The blade didn't move an inch.

The thug frowned and tried to pull it out. It still didn't move. That was when he found that the knife was quivering slightly and a black shadow was slowly enveloping it.

"You picked a wrong time." Arkiloth whispered harshly. The knife's metal blade cracked and the fragments dropped to the floor.

Paling, the man backed off, swearing under his breath. Slowly, Arkiloth stood up and stepped over the remains of the knife. All of the eyes in the tavern were on them now.

Not bothering to make threats, Arkiloth raised his hand and the man was instantly bound in ropes of pure dark magic. Struggling inside the shadowy bonds, the man let out a muffled scream as he saw Arkiloth slowly clenching his fist. A crack was heard, and then the magic dissipated, leaving a limp body on the floor.

Arkiloth strode over to the body and found, to his surprise, that the figure had an Imperial Legion sword belted onto his waist. He shrugged. _Probably a deserter._ He picked up the blade and strapped it onto his back. Sighing, he looked up at the other people in the tavern.

Their faces were contorted in various types of horror. Some people were slowly edging towards the door. Arkiloth sealed the lock with a flick of his wrist. No one was going out, and no one was coming in. The guards would have to wait until morning to clean up the mess. Sitting back down in his chair, he crossed his legs and closed his eyes. Then something struck him, making him sit up, eyes wide.

He had been using magic. Magic. The magic had come out easily, as though it had a life of its own. It was the second time that his spells had gone loose without him knowing. First Elva, now here. He groaned and slammed his fist onto the table for the second time that day, muttering curses under his breath.

A splitting pain suddenly hit him, worse than any of the attacks before. Clutching his head, he bit his lower lip viciously to keep himself from screaming. Blood started to flow, and Arkiloth focused on the coppery taste. It was the only thing he could think of clearly. The rest was lost in the pain that wracked his entire body.

As suddenly as it came, it went. With fumbling fingers, he shakily brought the wine glass to his lips.

"Jierda!"

The wine glass shattered in his hand. But not because of the spell.

Arkiloth paled as the door broke into wooden fragments. He knew who had cast the spell, and he had no desire to meet her. He shrank further into the darkness of his hood, wishing that he had one last bit of strength to get him out of the city.

To his dismay, the elven rider walked directly to his table and sat on a wooden chair beside it.

"Did it attack you again?" Arya asked.

"It is… none of your concern…" Arkiloth managed to whisper through the lingering pain.

"Yes, it is." Replied Arya firmly.

"No, it isn't." breathed Arkiloth. The pain finally began to fade away into nothingness, and he was able to gather what was left of his wits. "I said that I'd leave your life. And I did. I intend to keep it that way."

Turning toward the bartender, he said, "Give me something else. Whatever I can handle." The bartender hurried off, trying to hide his fear but failing miserably.

Arya looked at Arkiloth straight in the eye. "You haven't changed much, Eragon."

Arkiloth arched an eyebrow in response. "You are the last person I thought would say that." Leaning back in his chair, he covered his emotions layer by layer and managed to force out a smirk. "Being cut off from his own dragon doesn't change a person, I admit." He added sarcastically. He took the wine from the bartender and held it in his hand, trying to calm himself down.

"I know that you're hiding yourself. It won't help you."

"I'm not hiding myself. Why would I?" Arkiloth took his hood off, making several people cowering in the corners gasp in fear.

"You're still there, Eragon, we both know it. You are still that boy that I met more than ten years ago, not a--."

"Not an utterly destroyed shell of a man, bitten raw by bitter experiences? Prove me wrong." Arkiloth replied in a calm voice.

He was caught suddenly off guard by a pair of soft lips pressing onto his.

His eyes widened, and for the second time, his wine glass shattered. Everything suddenly became blurry and unfocused, like being seen through water. All he could sense was the sweet taste and hint of blood on his lips.

Slowly, Arya backed away. Arkiloth just sat there, staring into her eyes. He didn't even have the ability to protest when the elf whispered, "Slytha…" into his ear.

* * *

That's it. Kill me. Hunt me down. Nail me on a cross. ANYTHING!!!! 

I still can't believe I just did that.

Sorry if it seems a bit ooc… Only support to my argument that it could be possible? A lot can happen to a person (or an elf, for that matter) in ten years.

Hope you enjoyed it… I didn't enjoy writing it. But hey, I had to take it somewhere.


	41. Chapter 41

_It was the soft thumping of leather boots on a stone floor. A small figure, wrapped in a richly decorated cloak, ran through the dark alley without a glance backwards, hurrying on to his destination. A tall, dark haired man with a wooden staff was walking swiftly behind him. Further back was another man, looking nervously from left to right, running after his companions._

_The scene shifted; two hooded woman __were__ running through the trees. Several soldiers were running after them, wearing strange midnight blue armor th__at was unfamiliar to Eragon. A tall __elf was running silently beside them, preparing to strike at the right moment._

The dream suddenly changed, and the colors of the surroundings were suddenly swept away until there was only emptiness. Then… Eragon saw something.

_A red, elegant sword, held by a man with flaming hair and a pale face…the crimson sword flashing in the rain swept battlefield, on a broken tower high above the battling armies…night all around the two fighters, a duel of dark and shadow, the blades whistling through the air …a hoarse scream full of agony, emanating from the man with maroon hair__…__ falling down__ …cold, maniacal laughter, chilling to the bone, loud and cruel…__ his enemy bending over him, with one sword in each hand__…__ a sudden grunt of pain__…_

Eragon sat up in the bed, sweat flowing and dripping down his chin. It was dawn. He hadn't had that dream for so long… he thought it abandoned him.

He thought that Arya abandoned him as well

Looking over to the beautiful elf's sleeping form, he tried to think of what happened last night. _A few snatches of sentences here and there__…__ this is pointless._ Eragon sighed and looked out the window. What had happened last night?

Maybe he didn't want to find out.

A mind stirred behind him. Truth be told, Eragon was still very nervous around the elf; even after ten years of wandering and thieving from the most heavily guarded places in Alagaesia. He tensed as he heard Arya sit up behind him.

Drawing a breath, Eragon turned around. "Not that I'm complaining, but… why the sudden change of heart?" His hand went up to the scar on his cheek, moving his fingers over it.

Arya noticed the action. "I knew your swordsmanship. You would have blocked it, forced the sword away, and then attacked me on the left. That wouldn't have happened."

"That night wasn't a sparring match, Arya. You said that I was a traitor. You said that you were going to kill me. You almost did."

"You have the Vault within you. Not one person in Alagaesia would have had a chance to defeat you, except for the dragon king—"

"So you are trying to convert me?" Eragon sighed and paced in a small circle. "Don't think that I haven't been watching the efforts of my former _friends._ The Varden are planning on one final attack that will pierce through the defenses of the Empire in the south and capture the capital." Eragon ran his hand through his blood-colored hair. "Unfortunately, basically everyone in Alagaesia knows that it would be a suicide attempt. Galbatorix will annihilate half of the Varden army alone, and his Imperial soldiers will slaughter the rest. But the Varden have no choice." Eragon said with a small smirk. "They are on the edge of having a rebellion of their own inside the Varden itself." Shrugging, Eragon walked over to the window. "It doesn't matter much, anyway. No matter who or what wins, Alagaesia will still plunge into a complete chaos. The current war is the only thing that is keeping the people terrified and willing to cooperate. Once the war ends… Alagaesia will go up in flames."

"Galbatorix must be defeated, Eragon. He will not age and die like most tyrants. He will need to be forced down with sword and magic. And you are most possibly the only one person in Alagaesia, present or future, that will be able to defeat him." Arya looked at him hard in the eyes. "If you do not wish to do it for yourself, at least do it for those that still call you a friend. Vanir, Roran, Orik… they think about you much more than you realize."

Eragon looked out the window with a glare. "I told you that I'd get out of your lives. And I did. So now you're asking me to come back after ten years of being alone? Do you fucking know what the others will think? How they will react? How _Saphira_ will react? Hell, I'm still a godsdamned traitor. Not a little boy that has gotten lost and finally found his home ten years later."

"Maybe you are."

Eragon looked aghast for a moment. Then his gaze softened and he slid onto a chair. "How's… how's Saphira?"

"She's fine. She does feel lonely sometimes, but there are plenty of people who are willing to talk."

Eragon grimaced, and gazed out the window again. "She… I… oh, damnit." He muttered, and moodily sat on the chair. After a long while, he finally spoke.

"I will not be able to defeat the king and his rider on my own, Arya. Murtagh is a formidable foe, and I know that he will not give up easily when he and his master attempt to defeat me. You will need skill to hold the red rider back. Come."

Eragon stood up, and walked out of the inn with a strange expression on his face.

------------

The snow crunched under his leather boots as he readied his sword. Arya also had a slim, emerald blade in her hand.

Without warning, Eragon brought his sword down directly in a bold frontal attack. Arya leapt away from the blade, and twirled the sword around in an attempt to strike her opponent. Eragon parried the blow easily, and kicked his foot out to trip her.

The shadow rider shifted from form to form, testing the elf in every type of swordsmanship. His moves were almost mockingly slow, as if he knew that Arya could not even hope to mark him even once. And he was right. Smiling grimly, Eragon swept his foot out in a circular motion and a blanket of snow flew through the air, making Arya shield her eyes in surprise. Before she knew it, a cold blade was at her throat.

"You fought unfairly." She said, arching an eyebrow.

"Honorable fighting is a right reserved for the strong. Honorable fighting means that you mean to play with your opponent, not using every skill you have against him. This so called dishonorable fighting will save your life, taking your enemy's. But as you are the princess of the elves, I would advise you not to resort to such attacks when you can be seen by your men." Eragon settled into another stance. "What I have just shown you are the styles and forms I have encountered during my… trips across Alagaesia. Now, I will show you mine. Defend yourself."

Arya silently moved into a defensive position.

Suddenly there was a blur of motion, a slight pain on her wrist, and a cold feeling of metal under her chin. She looked down and saw that she had dropped her sword.

"Murtagh is strong and fast because of the Vault, but he is still human. Elves possess the speed that humans do not, and that is the way you are to defeat him." Eragon readied his sword once more. "Attack with precision and speed. Aim to disarm if you wish, or to kill. The throat and the heart are the key points. Don't bother to defend yourself. Once you are in control of the duel, there will be no need to defend."

Eragon drew the sword back and attacked once more. He was right; he never once went on defense. He just attacked faster and faster, till his movements were a blur, and the only thing Arya could do was back slowly away from his lightning-fast attacks.

"Remaining on the offensive is the key. Don't care about your enemy's attacks. Force him to remain on the defense!" Eragon shouted. Arya thinned her lips into a line and struck out at Eragon's throat. The shadow rider mimicked her actions and thrust out his sword at her neck as well; only his attack was swifter, making the elf abandon her attack and leap away.

"You must be swift. A good attack can be better than all the defenses you know of!" Eragon whipped his sword around, and the blade once again rested on Arya's throat.

The match continued.

* * *

Sorry for the late update, guys… What can I say? School's started, and I don't like it. First thing that happened on my first day in high school was that they gave us a friggin' hard math test, to say, "Hey kiddies, there's still a lot to learn." 

I totally got screwed.

Totally unrelated nonsense, of course. So, what do you think of this chapter, hmm?


	42. Chapter 42

A lone man stood on the empty streets of Petrovya. Impatiently tapping his foot on the ground, he looked around with a small frown.

"You there!"

The man turned around with a fierce scowl on his features. He eyed the two guards that had run up to him with a glare. "What do you want?" He snapped, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

The soldiers returned his glare with two of their own. "What business, good sir, do you have that needs to be conducted so late? The law clearly states that—"

The man's sword flashed out. The two guards stumbled backwards and fell to the ground, their throats slit. Muttering sourly, the man wiped the crimson blood off the blade with his cloak.

"That was rather unnecessary." A voice commented from behind him.

The swordsman jumped slightly. "It wouldn't have happened if you weren't an hour late!"

"True, true." Another taller man walked out from a dark alley. "I had been delayed by some things that are quite… annoying."

"Such as?"

"The Black Hand." Replied the taller man grimly.

"Ha! Those mediocre spell casters delayed the mighty Daevr? Intriguing… What did they want with you?"

"What did they want with _us_." Daevr corrected. "And the elite circle of the Black Hand was involved as well, so don't get cocky, Thenel."

"The elite circle?" Thenel's eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. "Wait… what do you mean by _us_? I've had nothing whatsoever to do with them!"

"The Black Hand is hunting down the apprentices of Arkiloth. They hid their operations quite well; I didn't discover it until they ambushed us during the meeting. And apparently, ebrithil didn't know either."

"My life is going down the gutter." Said Thenel glumly. Then his mouth dropped open. "Did you say that the _Shadow Rider_ himself didn't know?"

"Yes." Replied Daevr, who was getting irritated. "If it weren't for the girl—well, I'll start from the beginning then." Daevr smoothed out the creases in his robe and started to talk.

"I've told you about why we were summoned; the Shadow Rider planned to spread his word through his three first apprentices. And truth be told, we had no picture of what he wanted to talk about."

Thenel smirked. "Ah, so it wasn't the usual mysterious Daevr act, was it? You weren't hiding anything from me; you knew nothing yourself."

Daevr ignored him. "When we met in the forgotten dwarf cavern, I knew that something had changed. Firstly, ebrithil was not as tense as he was; he looked…for the lack of a better word—alive. Then, he did the most preposterous thing that you could think of: He wanted us to go against the Empire in the final battle."

Thenel literally choked on nothing.

"Of course we started to check silently to see if he was some masquerading Varden spy; but alas, he wasn't." Daevr looked half amused, half awed at this point. "Then he put out a contract. Quoting his words, 'the man that fights the hardest shall gain the knowledge of all that I have learned'. It was quite appealing. But then this little girl runs directly into our so called secret meeting and states that the Black Hand is after us." Daevr eyes began to narrow. "She was very unusual; she had a stain of foul magic on her, a curse even. One that was expertly lifted but still existed. And the most frightening thing was that the touch of dark magic on her was ebrithil's. It took me half a month to unravel a strain of magic I took off her, but I am quite certain."

The shorter swordsman arched his eyebrows.

"She is of no concern at the moment, though. But she had an unusual way with words that made you believe her. She said that she sensed a group of men with foul intentions back here in this very city. Listening and spying, she managed to figure out who they were after and tracked the Black Hand to us. It was at that point that the cursed group attacked."

Thenel listened on, aghast. He had heard nothing of this sort for a long time.

"We were prepared though, because of the girl's words, and we managed to cut a path out of the cavern and into the open. And what do we find? Imperial soldiers. Ebrithil told us to escape and stayed back, holding back the entire army. Then, as if he had been caught by surprise, ebrithil was shot by seven crossbow bolts. All penetrated him."

Daevr took a deep breath and continued. Thenel was shocked beyond words.

"Ebrithil ordered us to leave, and told us with his mind that he was going to be fine. We obeyed. It was part of the oath to obey. He managed to kill a few more soldiers… but then… he was forced off a cliff. The girl that was following him screamed and jumped after him."

"It was… harsh. We were blinking back tears, trying to keep focused on the path, stumbling most of the way. Then we heard his voice, with the same shade of dark that usually comes with it."

Thenel released the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"He said that he was fine, and asked with us with a slight tease if we doubted his abilities. I've never heard him talk like that, but we were so overjoyed that we didn't really care about it. He sounded so… alive." Daevr paused. "So it all comes back to the fact that ebrithil wants us to join him on the final battle. You can reject the offer, if you want. But the winner of this little game gets his skills."

* * *

You know, I was planning to put a lot more to this chapter… but I'm really tired, due to cursed math homework. Guess I'll have to put the extra stuff in chapter 43. 

Thank y'all for such wonderful reviews! It's actually over 250 now!


	43. Author's Note

I'm not sure if I can do this, but oh well.

Well, it's just this: I've been through the "stats" section of my profile, and I found something quite disturbing. All of my other chapters have at least 5 reviews next to them, and chapter 42 has only one. No, **I****'****m not asking for more reviews**; what I want to ask was that was there anything wrong with ch.42? Is it too extremely confusing that no one knows how to respond? Or is it that the chapter just sent my reputation down the drain? Either way, just tell me, and I'll go re-write it right away.

It's just that it's messed with my confidence. Sorry about the rambling. I just want to make this story good, and ch.42 looks really bad to me.

P.S. Oh, and I've changed my penname to "BlackBird'292". A friend of mine has recently come to this site and I do not want him to recognize my old penname.


	44. Chapter 43

Thanks, guys! I'm glad that you people out there helped me out. Here's chapter 43!

* * *

Eragon looked at the map laid on the table and smiled. Everything was going just as he wanted it. The Varden had merged all their forces together and managed to cut through the southern defenses of the Empire, heading straight toward the capitol of Uru'baen. The main armies of the Empire had fallen back and gathered there, displaying signs of being unable to stop the Varden; but their true intent was to crush the Varden once and for all. 

But that wouldn't happen if the Shadow Rider intervened.

His thirteen apprentices were in place. The board was set. Eragon had full control. And best of all, Galbatorix most likely thought him dead.

A slight frown appeared on the young man's face. He had already seen twenty seven winters, the last ten years filled with grief; but with the Vault and his elven blood, he looked almost the same as he did before he left the Varden. Time, so savage to some, barely left a mark on his face. Only the maroon eyes had changed. Once innocent, now emotionless and cruel.

Sighing deeply, Eragon thought of his last words with the Varden's rider…

* * *

_"__You are a fast learner, Arya. Murtagh will be very surprised indeed.__"_

_Putting down her sword, Arya looked at Eragon. __"__Why Arkiloth?__"__ she asked quietly._

_Eragon__ smiled. The small grin had a touch of despair to it, barely hidden, very __noticeable__"__That, your highness, is a very personal matter. I will just reveal that it is Hardarac in origin.__"__ Sheathing his sword, Eragon put his remaining arm on the __elf__'__s shoulder. __"__This is all I can teach you in such a sho__rt amount of time; but it will suffice.__"__ Eragon looked up into the sky. Tiny flakes of snow were still falling from the heavens. __"__I would suggest that you call your dragon, and get to your people before they are too worried.__"_

_A magnificent emerald dragon suddenly dived down from the grey sky, its wings __creating great gusts of wind that blew the snow around in a blur of white. A deep roar sounded, and the dragon landed between the two riders, it__s eyes fixed on Eragon._

_"__She doesn__'__t trust me.__"__C__ommented Eragon lightly._

_"__You don__'__t look like someone a dragon can trust.__"_

_"__So true__…"__ Eragon suddenly knew how Brom felt when he saw Saphira for the first time at the farm. __"__I won__'__t ask her name; that would be too personal, I think. Oh, and she should know that she shields her mind incredibly well. I couldn__'__t sense her until the third day.__"_

_"__She was skilled before she was even hatched in __deceiving__ minds. That was how the king miscalculated.__"_

_"__Intriguing.__"__ Eragon raised an eyebrow. __Arya leapt onto her dragon gracefully, swinging herself between two __ivory__ spikes.__ The elf looked back at the man standing in the snow. __"__You do know that Trianna was the true traitor, do you not?__"_

_"__Oh? She always seemed dark, but no, I have never kn__own__. Why?__"_

_"__Trianna works for power. The Varden__ was losing its strength; she believed that there was no hope. She escaped shortly after we unmasked her, which was five years __ago__. We__'__ve been trying to find her ever since.__"_

_Eragon closed his eyes, deep in thought. Arya leaned forward in the saddle and started tying her things to it._

_"__Wait.__"_

_The elven rider glanced back at Eragon. "__Yes?__"_

_"__Could I ask you one small favor?__"__ Eragon__'__s voice was slightly hesitant. __"__Please__…__pass on__ my skills to Elva. It is the least I can do to repay for my mistakes.__"_

_"__Wiol ono.__"__ With those parting words, the green dragon leapt up into the gray sky and glided away, out of his sight._

_"__Saphira trained her well.__"__ Eragon said to himself, before trudging away as well._

* * *

Pulling himself away from his memories, Eragon shook his head and smiled. For the first time in all these years, he had a task to complete. And for the first time in so many years, he actually had been caught off guard. He would of survived the ambush planned by the Black Hand, surely; but his apprentices might not have made it out. Elva was certainly an unusual girl. 

And she had jumped off the cliff with him when he was feigning defeat and death. She idolized him, Eragon could tell. But there seemed to be something more to the admiration. And she was completely overjoyed when she found out that he was alright, weeping tears of happiness. Why did he have so large an impact on the girl?

Eragon shrugged and looked at the map, flipping through his papers. Recruiting, the buying of supplies… yes, Galbatorix had been waiting for this battle for a long time, it seemed. If he wasn't careful, he could be forced off the streets and thrown into the army camps like most young men. Eragon chuckled at the thought.

But what bothered him most was the fact that the king knew about his small meeting with his apprentices. The ambush was too well planned, not hastily formed as most attempts were. Clearly there was a traitor, or an invisible foe lurking in the shadows.

Speaking of traitors… Eragon realized he had one last thing to do. Putting on his black cloak, he jumped out of the window and ran off into the night.

-------

Two days later, a bloody head flew straight into the main Varden command tent, striking Nasuada directly in the stomach.

"Trianna!" she gasped, staring at the head. Its eyes were widened in horror.


	45. Chapter 44

Vanir strapped on his elven wrought armor with a small grunt. Though he preferred to go without protection, he needed all that he could get in the upcoming battle. In this battle the war would be decided, and a victor would be chosen to rule Alagaesia. The elves, the Varden, the Urgals and the Dwarf clans that supported their king on one side; Galbatorix on the other.

But often times the elf couldn't stop thinking that the outcome of the war was already decided, and they were just hanging on to that hopeless string of hope. Deep in their hearts, everyone knew that the Empire would win. The king could demolish an entire army with him and Shruiken alone; and the Imperial army still outnumbered the Varden slightly. And then there was the Red Rider, able to defeat the Elven rider in mere minutes.

Yes, the war was already decided. But that didn't mean that Vanir wasn't going to die trying to change it.

The elf fastened his sword to his belt and looked over to the horizon. A large, dark mass gathered there, and his elven eyesight could see the slight shimmering of pikes and spears in the distance. A small flash of ruby red could also be seen among the cold iron light.

How Vanir wished that a matching sapphire blade would come to the Varden's side to combat it.

"Captain Vanir!"

Shaken out of his thoughts, the elf turned around and looked at the soldier that was kneeling just outside his tent flap. "Yes?"

"The generals request that you get your people ready. We will be marching soon."

Nodding, Vanir waved the messenger away. Drawing his sword, he walked out of the tent and under the dimming sky.

A sudden arrow struck him in the arm, making him swear in surprise. Tearing the projectile out, he looked out to the direction of the bowman; and his jaw dropped.

The Imperial army was now a mere hundred yards away from the Varden, all armed and charging forward. The swords were gleaming cruelly with silver light, making several soldiers cry out in fear. Grabbing a magician behind him, Vanir snapped, "What happened?"

"W-we don't know, master elf. It seems t-that an illusion or some was working. We didn't detect it!" The poor magic user was stammering, and could barely talk straight. Gritting his teeth again, the elf looked over to the front of the army. Caught unprepared, the frontal defenses of the Varden were already getting slaughtered, and the battle hadn't even truly begun. Yet.

The main forces of Galbatorix crashed into the stunned Varden army mercilessly, leaving hundreds of bodies in their wake. It was a massacre. Not many soldiers were even fully armored in the Varden, and they barely had a chance before being trampled by the Imperial cavalry. Grabbing the magician again, Vanir snarled, "Get your group to fight back, mage. Du Vrangr Gata has to strike back!"

The magician looked terrified for a second, and then fell limp on the ground, twitching and spasming uncontrollably, shocking Vanir. It looked as if someone had drained all of his power and left him. But who was it?

His question was answered a moment later. A man cloaked in black suddenly appeared next to him not three feet away, and started to murmur quiet words of the ancient language. Vanir, startled, took a close look at the man's face. He was extremely young, twenty years old at the most. As the elf leaned in to look closer, a huge explosion knocked him out of his observations.

A great barrier of raging flames was now burning in the middle of the two armies, keeping the Empire away and giving the Varden time to organize their formation. Many imperial soldiers lay dead, burned by the inferno.

"The Du Vrangr Gata ain't good for much." Remarked the man casually, nudging Vanir in the side. "Had to take three of 'em before I could build that thing. Oh, an' don't worry, I won't be stealing from any elf chap." Smiling broadly, he disappeared as quickly as he had come.

Staring in the direction the man had gone, Vanir had many, many questions on his mind. But none could be asked now. Clenching his fists, he called his group of elves and went to battle. The Black Hand was already dispelling the flame barrier.

The battle was the strangest thing that Vanir had ever faced. There seemed to be more than one cloaked man; they were literally appearing everywhere, casting spells of destruction with extreme power. The Du Vrangr Gata seemed to be the fuel for their fire, being drained at every turn by the strangers. Enormous explosions rocked the battlefield, throwing Imperial soldiers left and right, and the Black Hand seemed to be driven to the edge, almost no longer being able to fight. If this continued, the battle could be won; not easily, but victory could be at hand. The Dwarves of the combined army were already forcing the Empire back.

But then a magnificent ruby red dragon flew out on the battling armies, breathing out crimson flames that sent the Varden soldiers screaming. Almost instantly, a shield was raised to deflect the fire. Vanir noticed that in addition to the elf mages, the cloaked men were also protecting the army, feeding their power to the shield secretly.

A green dragon flew out from the back of the army to meet the red. Roaring savagely, a giant blue dragon also joined the conflict, a titanic battle between three of the greatest creatures in Alagaesia. With the two dragons attacking, the red rider was forced to throw them back with a burst of calculated magic. Twisting around to avoid hitting the battlefield, the blue dragon growled and flew once again to duel the red.

"Anytime now." Muttered Vanir. Unknown to him, another long last friend of his was murmuring the same words unseen, watching the battle from the side. Eragon knew that he had to make his appearance at the right moment, just when…

A ground shaking roar was heard, and Vanir had to resist the urge to cover his ears. Looking upwards, he saw the darkest nightmare of the Varden.

Galbatorix and his dreaded dragon, Shruiken.

The king looked almost insignificant on the back of the great beast, but everyone knew that he was as, if not more, deadly than the dragon could ever be. Calmly, the tyrant of Alagaesia raised a hand in the dark sky.

The shield that the magic users had raised up against Thorn was shattered almost instantly. A few elves dropped to the ground, dead from the effort to keep the shield intact. Galbatorix smiled slightly and then pointed a long finger at the sapphire dragon.

A flash of white light struck Saphira cruelly, sending her crashing onto the battlefield. Eragon, who was standing beside the battle, responded by thinning his lips.

"Now." He ordered quietly.

The three men behind him nodded in silent agreement and unsheathed their swords. Drawing his own, the Shadow Rider concentrated, then let out a piercing mental and physical shriek that covered the entire battlefield.

Galbatorix drew back in surprise. The three dragons growled in discomfort and fortified their minds. The elves and the magic users tried futilely to keep the sound from tearing through their skulls. More than half of the army on both sides dropped to the ground, clutching their heads.

Running out to the sapphire dragon, Eragon touched her gently and whispered a few well-chosen words of healing. The Shadow Rider turned around and shot a glare at the dragon king.

"Galbatorix." He hissed.

The king smiled broadly. "Arkiloth the Shadow Rider. An honor. Or should I say…" Galbatorix glanced at Eragon. "Eragon Shadeslayer?"

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Please don't kill me... I had school, writers block, and many other things that I'd rather not mention. I am very sorry for this late update.

xxx

I changed a few of my words and phrases. When I first posted this chapter I was still half asleep, so many things sounded weird. I've corrected them now.


	46. Chapter 45

Galbatorix shook his head, and jumped off his black dragon with ease. "Eragon Shadeslayer. Boy, you've been quite an interest to me all these years. So young, and yet so talented." Gasps of surprise spread throughout the soldiers, murmuring their astonishment that the young man before the king was actually the infamous _dead_ dragon rider. "But I am curious; how did you break the oath?"

Eragon grinned tightly. "Xanzarath discovered my true name, and therefore ordered me to kill you; and then I made an oath to you that I would never harm the Empire in any way possible. Most people would have been torn apart, driven mad by the separate responsibilities, but it just takes some clever magic manipulation to force the two head on. I broke them both into nothingness long ago."

"Cunning, indeed." Galbatorix drew out a long black sword with his right hand, balancing it. "What changed your mind? Ten years ago, you hated the Varden with all your heart."

"I still hate it, Galbatorix." Eragon and Galbatorix started circling around each other, one cautiously, one carelessly. "Ten years is a short time to us. Don't you agree? After all—"

Thorn suddenly struck out, lunging at the green dragon. The Varden's dragon managed to dive away from the swift attack, roaring in surprise, though the elven rider upon it seemed unfazed. The aerial battle began once again, without the presence of the blue.

"It won't work, Galbatorix. Trying to get me to help the two is a hopeless case for you." Eragon tightened his grip on the sword.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because they don't need my assistance." Eragon replied, lashing out with his blade. The king drew back calmly, watching the sword flash past him with inhuman speed.

"Better than I thought, Eragon. Much better. But you'll still need a little more." His left hand drew out a beautiful white sword decorated with numerous elvish runes. With amazing accuracy, he slashed at Eragon's empty sleeve.

The shadow rider could only watch in shock as the piece of cloth was swept away by the wind, fluttering over the bloody battle field.

"Very well!" Galbatorix bowed mockingly, the two swords ready in his hands. "Shall we begin?"

Eragon clenched his teeth and struck out. Galbatorix blocked it with ease, then flashed out with his black blade.

---------------------------

The battle continued on, though Roran paid almost no attention to it as if he were in a trance. His eyes were fixed on the figure standing on the field of broken swords and shattered shields, dueling with the most powerful man in Alagaesia.

Eragon Shadeslayer. Roran grinned slightly and then laughed. He knew that his rash cousin would come, willingly or unwillingly, one way or another. He just knew.

A spear nearly struck Roran in the side, causing him to jerk back into reality. With an easy blow, his war hammer smashed into the attacker's skull with a sickening crunch. A few bowshots away was Vanir, directing his elves to drive into the Imperial forces. He seemed distracted as well; his eyes constantly flitted over to the Shadow Rider and his powerful opponent, and he looked worried.

Roran returned his gaze to Eragon. And he swore.

Eragon, for the first time in ten years, was losing. Slowly and steadily, inch by inch, he was being forced back by the ancient king. Galbatorix, wielding two swords, had a great advantage over the one-armed Shadow Rider. Eragon was certainly swifter, but the king's unique swordsmanship was something was something the rider had never seen before. No matter how he parried and blocked, Galbatorix's attacks always slipped through, forcing him to step back to avoid it.

Roran's eyes widened in horror. The king was pushing him toward the palace…

--------------------------

Eragon grimaced and ducked under another swift sword stroke. Galbatorix chuckled and swung out his black sword in a seemingly careless arc, causing the shadow rider to lean out in an almost impossible angle to evade the cunning attack.

"Good lords, my boy! That was certainly something I haven't seen before!" Galbatorix tilted his head to the side as Eragon's sword went whistling past his ear. "I don't know who I should compliment… Brom? No, I doubt that Brom could do that… Oromis? Perhaps, but he's a bit old to be doing tricks like this. Ah, mind your footing, boy!"

Eragon stumbled suddenly at the mention of his former mentor's name. "You knew!" He gasped. His usually calm and impassive face was gone, replaced by a shocked expression.

"My dear boy, it was no secret. But I heard that you attended his funeral in secret after his death, did you not?" Galbatorix slid to the side almost lazily as Eragon cut down with his blade.

"I had to." There was no use denying it; Eragon knew that the king had absolute proof. "You would have done the same for your master."

"True, true…" replied Galbatorix, his crown glinting in the setting sun. "But then I would burn his coffin, and feed the ashes to the pigs, and _then_ slaughter the pigs and eat them." The king chuckled at the thought. "Then I would try to get the vileness out of me."

"What vendetta do you have with the riders!" yelled Eragon over the din of clashing blades. "You destroy them, and yet you still insult them when they're in their graves!"

Galbatorix shrugged. "Nothing important, I think… except a few dead friends and the death of my dear dragon." His white sword quivered slightly.

"You caused the death of them yourself." Eragon whipped his blade around and struck for the king's throat; but it was parried with a casual swing.

"Lies." hissed the king, his eyes becoming a steely grey. "Lies that the elves have created, lies that the riders have created. According to these tales, all my life I've been making foolish mistakes that wrecked havoc on my body and mind, and yet I still won the throne?" The king's attacks became stronger, battering down on Eragon's defenses. "They did it now, and they are still doing it to this day. Lying, deceiving... You certainly know of this, O great Arkiloth?" The king laughed mockingly and slashed out with his white sword.

Eragon nodded silently. Swinging out his sword in a complex pattern, his elbow touched something behind him slightly. Sparing a glance, he swallowed down a cry of surprise.

Galbatorix had cornered him to the palace walls. With no room to maneuver, he would be killed in seconds.

Cursing himself for his lack of attention, the shadow rider snarled and attacked the king with series of merciless attacks, causing Galbatorix to shift back _slightly_. Eragon took his chance and seized it.

It was supposed to be impossible. It was impossible. But the shadow rider did it nonetheless, running up the vertical surface of the cold stone and leaping over to the other side to the wall.

Landing with a soft _thump_, Eragon grinned tightly and turned around, blade at the ready. His sword was already dented and bent in many places from the vigorous fighting earlier, but that did not worry him much. What worried him was—

Like a black shadow, Galbatorix glided over the wall and landed in front of Eragon, the corners of his mouth pulled slightly upwards. "Good skill, Arkiloth. I've never seen anyone do that without the aid of magic. Your father's blood flows thickly in you, I see."

Eragon raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? I feel defiled. Morzan was a thoughtless butcher, nothing more."

"And you aren't?"

"Compared to you? Certainly not." replied the shadow rider, unaffected by the question. Years of suppressing his emotions left him with excellent self-control.

"You are too clever for you own good, boy. _Arkiloth_… a foolish name, and you are not worthy to bear it." Galbatorix slashed upwards with his white sword, black hair swinging through the air. "I've faced exactly what you've gone through… and more."

"I highly doubt that." Whispered Eragon. With a sudden kick, the king's dark sword noiselessly spun and flew over to the other side of the wall.

"Do you?" Galbatorix was undaunted by his sudden loss, and continued to rain down continuous attacks on his opponent with his remaining weapon. "Do not speak of things you do not understand, boy. _Arkiloth_ is a clever word game indeed, and I give my many compliments on your creativity; but do not think that you are the only one that can use it."

"And you think you can?" Eragon locked the two blades between them, panting hard.

"Without a doubt." Replied Galbatorix. The king's right hand drew back, and slammed into the shadow rider's unguarded chest with horrifying strength.

Eragon immediately thrown out, crashing into a stone wall with a speed that a human body was not meant to withstand. More than half of his ribs were cracked, but the shadow rider's wards had blocked the worst of the damage. But he was already in no condition to fight.

Struggling to stand up, he passed his hand over his torso and the spell began to heal his broken frame. A few years ago, an attack like this would have killed him in an instant; but here he was, still alive. Eragon smiled wryly and focused his efforts even more. The soft crunching of Galbatorix's boots were getting closer.

Then Eragon noticed that his sword was gone. Scanning his surroundings frantically, he finally found it in shards a few feet beside him.

"Damn!" He swore, and got to his feet. Stepping with long strides, he started to climb the spiraling staircase of a high tower.

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I planned for this chapter to be longer, but heaven knows that I have to update. Jeez, I've been so busy that I haven't updated for a whole month!

Anyway, _Shadow Rider__'__s_ back in the game. Hope you enjoyed this short action chapter.


	47. Chapter 46

Eragon ran up the stairway, his cracked bones melting together in a surprising swiftness. He had gone long without truly practicing magic in fear of triggering the Vault, but now he knew that his worries were unneeded. His spells were as strong, or stronger than they had been before. For that he was thankful; but he didn't know how long the Vault would remain silent.

Bolts of black magic struck the wall beside him, diverted by his wards. He cursed and started to move even faster. Galbatorix was much more powerful than he had expected, which presented flaws in his original plan. So naturally, he had to improvise.

A great force nearly obliterated all his wards in a single blast, knocking him forward a few stumbling feet. Eragon snarled and turned around, magic charged in the back of his mind. _Ah, down with the improvising!_ He needed a whole new plan just to survive this unpleasant encounter.

Clenching his fists, he concentrated on all the energy in his body and unleashed them with all his might.

Darkness poured out of his remaining palm, dimming the flickering torchlight in the stairs. The shadows crept around the ancient king, swirling around his limbs seeking to surround him--

One flash of light brighter than the sun lit up the section of the stairway, temporarily blinding Eragon's sensitive eyes. When he finally had them to open, a virtually unharmed Galbatorix was still walking calmly towards him, sword in hand.

"Shade's eyes… strong light harms them extremely well when used correctly. Have you learned your lesson, _Shadeslayer_?"

Eragon grimaced and started running again, wiping his crimson eyes painfully. He couldn't hope to defeat the king with mere magic; Galbatorix had more than a century to hone his skills. But empty-handed, the shadow rider couldn't hope to win a duel.

Panting heavily, he sped up a few more steps…

And found himself on top of the tower, with no place to run. Immediately backing to the edge of the rooftop, he grasped the hunting knife at his belt and pulled it out with a swift move. The metallic edge shone with a pale blue light in the starlit evening, looking eerily bright. Furrowing his brow, Eragon forced himself to calm down. He wouldn't use his knife in this duel unless it was absolutely necessary.

The shrieks and screams of battling men could be heard under his feet. Sounds of soldiers dying on the battlefield.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

Eragon tore off his ruined cloak and glared at Galbatorix. "You were the one who caused it all."

The king raised his eyebrows at the shadow rider. "I was talking about the night, not our duel and certainly not the battle. Look." Galbatorix raised his hand and pointed to the dim gray night sky, where stars were twinkling above. "It is certainly not a sight seen every day. Certainly not these days."

"So you mean that you care nothing about the bloodshed you have caused?"

"Calm, Eragon, calm. Now, I thought that you didn't care about Alagaesia. I thought you didn't care about the Varden. So what are you complaining about?" Galbatorix lazily inspected his fingers and glanced slightly at the conflict below.

"I don't care about the two, yes. But because of you, people are—"

"Getting killed? Getting harmed?" The king spun around, rage in his eyes. "All these years, and people still think it's my fault? I want to make the land a safe place, a place full of joy, yet rebels arise and force my people to the brink of starvation. Is it their fault or mine that the land is crumbling apart? Yes, like you I know what is going to happen after this war." Galbatorix looked furious. "No matter what we do, this final battle will weaken both sides of the board greatly. It doesn't matter who is victorious in this, as the winner will lose control over Alagaesia eventually. There will be no winner in this war."

Eragon drew in a deep breath and readied his stance, holding out his hunting knife before him. "Indeed. Yes, a beautiful night from your perspective. But storm clouds are gathering in the distance, and soon it will be dark."

"Well, we aren't in position to worry too much about that, are we?" Galbatorix's sword leapt at Eragon like a silver flame.

The shadow rider lifted his knife to block the attack, then spun around and scanned the ground below. If he had enough time to prepare for another spell…

The king didn't halt in his movements, however, and soon Eragon was concentrating with all his thought on the duel. Blow after blow Galbatorix struck down at the shadow rider with unholy strength, but the small hunting knife always rose up to meet it.

"You've improved." Observed the king with a smirk.

"No. I've just learned a few tips on how to fight a bastard." Eragon leapt into the air and sliced down at the king's arm. Galbatorix blocked it with a slight difficulty.

Despite his remark, Eragon noticed that his movements were getting faster and more precise. The strength of his entire body seemed to have grown, and his muscles were no longer burning with exhaustion. Taking a few steps back, he examined his hand. Nothing had visibly changed.

"An insult? Interesting indeed." The king laughed and whipped his sword around. Eragon parried it and stabbed forward with his small knife. To his shock, Galbatorix reached forward and grasped the blade with his bare hand.

"Foolish little boy." The king leaned over and looked into Eragon's crimson eyes. "Did you think that the Vault would be enough for you?"

With a sudden power, Galbatorix's grasp tightened and shattered the knife.

Stumbling backwards, Eragon drew in a long breath and looked at the three metal shards spinning on the floor. _Damn. I didn't think tha—_

A hand grabbed Eragon, pinning his right arm and forcing him to remain on the spot. Looking up, he saw the grinning face of the dragon king.

"Goodbye, Eragon."

Charging his palm with magic, Galbatorix slammed his hand into the shadow rider once again. But this time there was no mercy.

Blasted off the tower at a tremendous speed, Eragon could only feel his organs being ripped apart by the devastating attack. Blood surged out of his mouth, making him splutter and choke. He could barely breathe through the agony. Then he began falling…

A familiar blue gleaming claw hooked the back of his tunic and lifted him into the air. Eragon smiled through the pain.

_Just like old times, Saphira?_

_Don't speak, Eragon. Leave it for later, while trying to convince me to forgive you._

_Indeed. _Eragon coughed up more blood and hung limply in the dragon's claws. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on healing his injuries. But it was completely of no use. The inside of his body was ruined beyond repair.

Saphira soared through the dark skies and landed softly down near the Varden camps. Immediately, cloaked men came rushing at them from all directions. Most of them already had their hoods cast down, and their faces were etched with concern. They grouped around their master, ignoring the sapphire dragon.

"…Erbrithil took a blow like that? I can't believe it…"

"Shut up Thenel, and examine his injuries. Channel your power into Daevr; he'll know what to do." A scrawny man ran his hand over Eragon's chest. "Bloody demons, I can't believe a man did this."

"Daevr? You've gathered enough energy?"

"Almost." Replied Daevr, sweat running in streams down his face. Raising a hand, he chanted four short words.

At first it was as if nothing had changed; blood still trickled out of his mouth, and his face was even paler than before. Then, Eragon's coughing began to lessen in seriousness, and fade away completely. His breathing became smoother, unlike before. Daevr, almost completely drained, continued to push his magic further into his master's body.

"He's doing it! He's doing it!" exclaimed one apprentice.

"You shouldn't have doubted him in the first place. Now that—_ curse the spirits! _It's Shruiken!"

The apprentices shouted in fear and surprise as the colossal black dragon drew near, breathing flames that destroyed entire groups of soldiers. It was the unholy beast, fully revealed in its dark glory. And he was coming closer.

"This is insanity." Muttered one of the men. "I never should have come." But despite his grim words, he carefully lifted his master from the ground and began to run. The others followed quickly.

"Let me down." rasped a quiet voice. "I'll deal with the worm. Thenel, fetch me a spear."

The men turned around and looked at Eragon, aghast. "Master! You cannot attempt that feat in your state!" Cried a young man. "It is impossible!"

"I am in a better condition than before. And that is all that matters." It was true. Shockingly, his body felt better than it had been before Galbatorix landed the blow._ Impossible,_ Eragon thought in his mind. He tested his arm, and it was as strong as it had ever been.

"Nothing is. And if not I, who will?" Eragon planted his feet firmly in the ground and grabbed an offered spear from one of the men beside him. Steadying his hands, he aimed it toward the sky.

"Erbrithil, a dragon's weakest points are at its joints and wings. If you get past the wards, it is possible that—"

"No, Reveck. The chest." Eragon started chanting softly in the ancient language, the syllables layering the point of the spear with magical power. Faintly, the iron tip began to shimmer.

"Chest…? Master!" Reveck looked at Eragon worriedly. "Even with a straight thrust with a rider's sword that is impossi—"

But the spear had already left the shadow rider's hand. Streaking through the air the projectile gleamed in the starlight, heading towards the ebony dragon with a speed that had been never seen before. The surrounding air hissed as the spear pierced through the tight wards that were protecting Shruiken, and sunk deep into his scales, tearing out through the other side. The dragon roared in agony, shaking the battlefield with his thunderous scream of pain.

Eragon grinned. "It begins now, your majesty."

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School, exam and other things that I would rather not mention are ruining my life. So sorry for the late update.


	48. Chapter 47

Eragon glanced at the top of the high tower, where Galbatorix was standing motionless. Raindrops began to fall on the battlefield, falling in small drops that were noticeable but could barely be seen. The king didn't move, staring out into the emptiness without any trace of emotion.

The apprentices gripped the hilts of their swords tightly, moving in front of their master with nervous but steady steps. Cold sweat covered their bodies, making some of them shiver. Or was it the rain that did so?

Galbatorix's wandering gaze started to move across the battle, watching as men slaughtered and killed each other, fighting for the nation they followed with utmost loyalty. Enraged roars of the remaining dragons melded into the background. His onyx orbs eventually shifted towards the one that had taken the life of his second dragon.

Shruiken would die. There was no doubt to that fact. Galbatorix had killed enough dragons in his prime to know what a fatal blow was and how a person could inflict it upon those majestic beasts. There was still a spark of light in the beast's mind, but it was wavering like a candle in the rains of the Spine.

Some soldiers in the Imperial army now looked terrified. The king could understand their shock; possibly no one in the history of Alagaesia had slain a dragon so swiftly and simply. With a simple throw of a spear his wards were pierced one by one, then driving through the iron hard scales that Shruiken prized beyond anything in the world. Galbatorix knew that he should feel fear at what he had just seen. He at the very least should have felt slightly impressed.

But he wasn't. Instead, a fire rose burning in his chest, consuming any rational thought. His limbs started shaking with barely concealed fury at what had just occurred. Tears started streaming down his face, displaying his anguish and rage.

_I swore__…_

Hundreds of feet below him, his black sword quivered and flew up into his grasp. The king's hand clutched it tightly, knuckles turning white.

_…__to protect him__…_

His swords united with him once more, he raised them with trembling hands.

_…__I swore__…__to rider, and to dragon__…_

Eragon glanced at the king, his brow furrowed in worry. His hand reached towards his empty sword sheath, groping for a sword that wasn't there. He swore under his breath, eyes never leaving the man still standing atop the tower.

_I need a sword. A blade strong enough to withstand the inhuman strength in those arms._Eragon touched his sheath, feeling how light it was without a weapon within.

A crimson sword suddenly shot down from the heavens, sinking deep into the ground beside the shadow rider. Looking above, he could see his brother staring aghast at the elf that had just disarmed him and tossed the blade below.

_Perfect._ Thought Eragon with a small grin. Pulling the sword out of the damp ground, he inspected it closely. It was still the same blade he used over ten years ago. Almost no cracks or fractures could be seen.

_Brings back memories, eh Saphira?_

_Indeed. _Saphira crouched down on the ground, ready to spring into the air at any moment. _I do not know why you have sudden__ly returned, and I do not know why I wasn__'__t informed of the fact that you are still alive, but I ask you this; s__hall we end__ it then, little one?_

Smiling, the Shadow Rider leapt onto the dragon, holding Zar'roc in his hand. Ten years. For more than ten years they had been apart, aching for one another. Yet at this very moment, that time seemed like a mere second.

They were still one.

With two powerful wing beats, they lifted up into the sky, soaring over the soldiers and gliding around the palace towers. Rain began to fall harder, and a boom of thunder could be heard in the distance. Stroking the red blade with his fingers, Eragon frowned. The whole scenario was so extraordinarily familiar that he was certain that he had seen it somewhere before. Perhaps on one of his trips around the city? Shaking his head slightly, he returned his glance to the man standing on the top of the highest tower. The king seemed to be concentrating, chanting and—

Eragon screamed. Saphira roared in confusion and agony.

The Shadow Rider, mind blurry with pain, noticed the shifting Vault inside him. The bindings were loosened. The spirits within him were to the point of almost being unleashed. Power nearly overflowing his body, his hand grabbed his blood-red hair and he forced himself to ignore the souls wreaking havoc inside of him.

"Saphira," he breathed, his eyes blinking back tears of pain. "Go back yourself. It will be too dangerous for you to stay around me in this state." Eragon tried not to remember the time that they were both under the influence of the Vault of Souls.

His dragon didn't respond. Her mind was fighting off the dark magic that was threatening to take over her body.

"I'll stay and try to defeat him myself. The more we let him weave his spell, the more dangerous my condition will be."

With a grunt, Eragon jumped off the dragon's back, back arching in agony. Holding his sword in his shaking hands, he slowly advanced towards the dragon king. Turning around, Galbatorix grinned cruelly and held his twin blades in front of him.

"You never knew that the bindings could be broken to such extent, did you?" With a cold smile, he twirled both of his swords. "Despite appearances, the Vault is an extremely fragile object. Long have I studied the magic that keeps the souls imprisoned within that magical barrier, and I can manipulate the barrier at my will. I didn't plan on using this spell until the very end… but since you've proven yourself worthy I suppose I'll finish it sooner."

With ragged breaths, Eragon straightened himself and smirked. Smiling mockingly, he tilted his head. "Ah, but you wouldn't dare destroy the bindings completely, would you? The results would be terrifying, if not disastrous. Alagaesia would be pushed to the edge of destruction, and I do not think that you would survive it."

"Nor do I plan to cause that certain event." Replied Galbatorix. "Releasing the bonds to such a degree is a risk in itself, as I'm sure you know. Frankly though, I am surprised that you can still stand in that pain."

"You've miscalculated." Returning the crimson sword into his sheath, the Shadow Rider raised his hand. "Pain or no, I will still fight you with all the strength I have. And thanks to that small trick of yours, I've got plenty. _Reisa_!"

The tower shuddered, and then colossal pieces of stone and rock tore off the structure, rising in the air. The rain poured down onto them, wetting them and causing them to look even darker in the night.

Looking disinterestedly at the boulders hovering above him, Galbatorix returned his swords into his sheaths. "You do know that this will only quicken your demise. Such use of your power… why, I wouldn't be surprised if the Vault took control of your body a second later. If you still have a mind to think with, think logically and reasonably. The more you do this, the easier it would be for me to defeat you; and even if I don't, your bout of insanity influenced by the souls within would certainly kill thousands of your friends."

"Want to try your luck?" Replied Eragon, hiding his agony behind a sneer. With a swift motion of his arms, the large stones crashed down on the place that Galbatorix had been standing, making the entire tower tremble under the impact. Glancing upwards, the Shadow Rider realized that he had missed his target.

"My, my." Commented the dragon king. "Arkiloth, from what I've heard of you, this certainly isn't your style." Galbatorix stood up on the rough stone that he was sitting on, and grinned. "Your time is running out boy, and you know it. Your false bravado isn't going to help you much longer."

The Shadow Rider silently drew out Zar'roc and leapt forward. Galbatorix raised an eyebrow and drew out his blades as well. Lightning flashed, causing the landscape to appear with sudden clarity.

_Possibly the last view of the world I__'__ll ever have,_ thought Eragon in his mind.

Metal clashed, and sparks flew. The two figures pushed against each other, their blades locked between them. Then they pushed away, the crimson blade weaving out of the white and the black. Twirling around, Eragon slashed at throat. Galbatorix leapt backwards to avoid it.

The rain poured down on them, soaking their clothes as the two dueled with unparalleled ferocity. Eragon's damp crimson hair whipped through the air as he sent out another blow. Galbatorix parried it, the jewels on his crown as bright as ever.

Through the pain and his feverous rage, the Shadow Rider noticed the odd familiarity with the scene. The darkness, the rain…

A sudden bout of dizziness suddenly hit his mind. He now knew.

_A red, elegant sword, held by a man with flaming hair and a pale face…the crimson sword flashing in the rain swept battlefield, on a broken tower high above the battling armies…night all around the two fighters, a duel of dark and shadow, the blades whistling through the air …a hoarse scream full of agony, emanating from the man with maroon hair… falling down …cold, maniacal laughter, chilling to the bone, loud and cruel… his enemy bending over him, with one sword in each hand… a sudden grunt of pain…_

A shriek burst from Eragon's lips as he doubled over. His body, his head, his heart… all felt like they were decaying, being sliced open, being gnawed on. His throat, growing hoarse from the scream, continued to pour out his anguish. Galbatorix, hearing this, ceased his movements with an amused look on his face.

"Longer than I had expected, Arkiloth. But even you cannot deny _them_." Crouching down to Eragon's level, he lifted the rider's chin with a slim finger. Looking into his eyes, the king smirked. "Pity though. You had so much more potential than Murtagh. I see that you've taught the elf some new skills of yours… hn, you do have the bad habit of teaching people your arts everywhere you go."

Galbatorix smiled, then started chuckling. The chuckling soon gave away to shrill laughter, tinged with manical pleasure and the cold joy of watching others suffer at his hands. The laughter increased in volume and insane happiness, until-

The king suddenly grunted in pain. Glancing down, he noticed a slender blade sticking out of his chest.

"You talk too much." Said one voice coldly. Turning around, Galbatorix noticed three cloaked men standing behind him. The dark-haired one in the lead had his sword pierced inside the king's body.

"Your students, I assume? The apprentices of Arkiloth I keep hearing about?" Sneering, Galbatorix grasped the blade and pushed it out of him with his bare hands. The apprentice watched, horrified, as his sword was removed, inch by inch, without any signs of discomfort.

"Svet…" croaked Eragon.

Straightening up, Galbatorix observed the three men with keen interest. "You three have much, much to learn…though I _am_impressed by the way you managed to get behind me without my noticing." Sliding his white blade back into his sheath, the king smiled, twirling his black sword. "Shall we go on, then?"

The three men fell back into identical stances, readying themselves for the battle that was approaching. Galbatorix leapt forward with a grin on his face.

Eragon still lay on the cold stone tower, unable to gather the strength to watch his apprentices duel with the king. He could only, with a sinking heart, hear the sounds of the nearby struggle, listen to the intense clanging of metal against metal. In his mind, he could imagine his students frantically defending themselves from one whose power had no end, fighting desperately against the inevitable. Suddenly, a scream of fear erupted from one of the men as he was thrown off the tower.

_Daevr__…_ thought Eragon grimly. The young man was certainly the most cautious of the trio, but he lacked the skills to fight against such a foe. But he would survive the fall.

Another yell of surprise was heard as yet another apprentice was forced off the tower. Galbatorix laughed cruelly.

_Trundar__…_

And finally, a gasp of pain reached Eragon's ears, as well as the sound of blade cutting through flesh. With a slight thump, the third man was pushed off the structure.

_Svet__…_

"Wasn't as impressive as I thought; though the last one was particularly annoying." Standing over Eragon once more, the king kicked the Shadow rider in the side. "I know that I should kill you, but somehow something inside me doesn't want to end the amusement so quickly." Nudging the rider with his boot, Galbatorix looked thoughtfully at Eragon. "Perhaps it's because of the fact that your life is just simply too similar to mine… why aren't you responding, hmm?"

A pain suddenly shot through his lower body. Gasping in agony, Galbatorix crumpled down to the ground, spasming.

"History repeats itself." Muttered Eragon as his foot went back to its normal position, having kicked the king in the fork of his legs. Standing up, he glanced at the king emotionlessly, placing a boot on Galbatorix's neck.

"How?" Choked Galbatorix. Then his eyes widened with realization.

"Yes. I molded my soul and the Vault together." Eragon pressed his foot harder down on the king's neck, and was rewarded with a choking sound.

"You… do know… what the results will be, yes?" The king coughed out, unable to escape from Eragon's now superior strength.

"Indeed. But that is, and will not be, of your concern." The Shadow Rider looked into the dark clouds above, and then at the continuous rain that mirrored his emotions. The battlefield had now fallen silent. The soldiers were now all aware of what was going to happen.

Crystal tears started dropping from Eragon's maroon eyes. But with sudden resolve, he lifted Galbatorix forcibly by the collar, and raised Zar'roc to the heavens.

"Brisingr." He murmured.

The crimson sword suddenly burst into blue flames. With a silent cry, Eragon swung out his sword in a broad arc.

The crowned head dropped down with a _thump_ on the field of dead bodies.

And Eragon started to cry.

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I was busy. Sorry for the late update. Oh, and Happy New Year, everyone!


	49. Chapter 48

Eragon Shadeslayer_. More than a decade ago, he was a simple farm boy, living with his small but loving family. Though living a hard life, he was content__…__ and happy._

_Then his misfortunes started to come, one by one. First, the destruction of his family; then, his death of his beloved mentor. The cursed scar that was branded on himself in his duel with the Shade, Durza. The supposed death of his friend, Murtagh, who was like a brother to him._

_The continuous rejections he __received__ from the one woman that he loved beyond compare__. Then, in the devastating war of the Burning Plains__…__ he had discovered his bloodline, and that his__ only__ brother had betrayed him._

_Though__ continuously struck down by these misfortunes, Eragon, with a spirit of fire__ stood up against these __tragedies__. And he had his friends and allies at his side, encouraging him__, aiding him__ and giving him strength._

_Saphira. __Oromis. Arya. Orik. Vanir. Roran. Nasuada. All of which he trusted with his life._

_Then, within a month, he was abandoned, thrown away like a tainted cloth. His friends__ started fearing__ him possibly even more than Galbatorix himself. He was declared dead__ and __forcibly__ torn apart from his dragon._

_For over a decade, he had brooded over his pains, letting them become twisted and dark. He trained himself to feel nothing, because whenever he did, it was always frustration and anguish. The blue rider became Arkiloth, a name feared across Alagaesia._

_That was what he was: Feared. His true name suggested it._

Brinsngr_. Fire. A double edged sword, burning his enemies and his allies alike. Though not intentional, he was destroying nearly anything in his path, harming almost everything he touched. It was his __fate._

_And no one escapes fate._

_-------------------------------------------_

Tears flowed slowly down Eragon's face. He was unsure why he wept; was it because of his upcoming fate? Or was it because of the pain that now wracked his entire body? Studying his reflection in one of the small pools of water around him, he noted with some sorrowful amusement that the scar on his face resembled a tear line simply too much. Coincidence, probably?

He had no time to worry about that now. Despite his frantic struggles and all the sacrifices he had made, the fight with the dragon king was not going to be his last. He had hoped that it wouldn't come to this end. And he knew that there was absolutely no hope in fighting his enemy unaided and alone. Yet, no one could aid him in this particular battle. He was basing all his actions tonight on a mere hunch. If his bet proved to be incorrect…

_T__ime to end a duel fought for over ten years._

Noticing the great gusts of wind, he stood up and faced the three majestic dragons hovering slightly above him, scales still shining brightly despite the grime of war that covered them. Murtagh had come also, concern etched on his features.

With a flick of Eragon's wrist, Zar'roc was returned into Murtagh's hands. The red rider blinked in confusion.

"He's yours, not mine. And Zar'roc knows it himself." Turning towards the others, he smiled grimly.

"Saphira, Arya… I have one last favor to ask of you two."

The dragon looked at him in confusion. _Why __"__last__"__ little one?_

"I'll tell you when we arrive at our destination. Please. It must be done this way."

_Little one, the only thing that you__'__ve become in these ten years in become more cryptic. Why__—_

"We have no time, Saphira. If this goes wrong, all that we've worked for will be for naught. Please, carry me to the Menoa tree. In your_ claws_."

_Wha__—_

"And Arya? Kill me if things get out of hand. If you can't, which I expect will happen… escape as fast as you can and warn the others about what I've become."

Arya's eyes widened. "The Vault? Is it—"

"Yes. I have no time. Even as we speak, I am setting up mental barriers, preparing to defend my mind from it. But it will be futile if I do not reach the Menoa tree before it takes over my soul. Will you do it then?"

"I—" Her eyes locked onto his, and immediately his emotions were hers. The desperation and sadness. The misery that he knew he was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. The anguish that he was falling, and there was no one to catch him. The loneliness.

"I-I will."

"Good."

That was the last thing Eragon remembered saying. A moment later, he was dragged down into the dark depths of his mind, trying to hold on to the last sliver of hope that he had.

--------------------

When the Shadow Rider opened his eyes once more, he found himself standing in a vast desert, devoid of any life. The uncomfortably harsh winds around him blew the sand away in torrents, shifting the dry landscape. Looking up, he found that though it seemed to be night, there was no moon watching his actions above.

There was nothing but the darkness and the barren area that he was standing in.

Examining his hand, he found that it wasn't the pale, almost gray skin he had become accustomed to these ten years. Instead, it was… normal. Plucking a small strand of hair up to his eyes, he found that it wasn't a blood red maroon he had since his transformation into a Shade, but a soft brown.

"Surprised, aren't you?" came a voice from behind him.

Whirling around, Eragon placed his hand on his empty scabbard. There was no one in his line of sight. Nothing but the endless sand. The wind blew even harder now, creating great gusts that caused his empty sleeve to flap in the wind. His senses were dulled, and when he tried to talk, it was like the words were muffled by some unknown source.

"It's no wonder. You're still a boy, after all." The voice started to chuckle quietly.

"Cease your words. Where are you!" Shouted Eragon into the emptiness.

"Wherever I want to be. This is my domain." Stepping out of the shadows, a hooded man stopped in front of him, bowing slightly. Even one with an untrained eye could see the mocking twist in his movements.

"Your domain?" Repeated Eragon, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye. And _your _mind."

"Is that so? So now my mind is supposedly under your command? A thing to be manipulated to your will?" Eragon asked.

"Yes… and no. But it will be, eventually." Laughing darkly, the man bowed yet again.

"So, you are the Vault, then?"

"Yes… and no. The Vault is merely a worthless container, used to seal my power. Only the foolish refer to me in such a way. I, myself? I have no name. I have no age. I am a being of many entities, many souls, with one mind and one purpose. And do you know why you were brought here?"

Brows furrowed together, Eragon responded, "Yes."

"Good, good. That will save much time." The hooded man drew out a long, silver sword and pointed it towards the Shadow Rider. "Here, I will kill you, Eragon Shadeslayer. I will break down those defenses that you have worked so hard to raise, and take over both your body and your spirit. You will regret having me melded into your soul." With that, he threw back his hood.

Eragon could not hold back a gasp of surprise.

The beautiful face he saw was that of Arya's. Her cold, Emerald eyes seemed to pierce holes in his soul.

Eragon took in a shuddering breath. "Who… what… are you?" His fists clenched together, his knuckles slowly turning white.

The elf turned towards him sorrowfully. "No, Eragon. The question is, who are you? Where is the old Eragon, that wouldn't even think of betrayal?"

The Shadow Rider blanched at these words. Ten years ago… ten years ago they had been the words that had nearly destroyed his heart. His nails dug into his hand, near the point of drawing out blood. He looked down, trying to control his raging emotions.

Eragon then heard a small, deep chuckle before him. Looking up slowly, he found to his horror, that it was Murtagh. Dressed in silver armor that was part of Eragon's most painful memories, the dragon rider smirked and raised a gauntleted fist. Pointing out a finger, Murtagh grinned.

"You never would give up."

Eragon flinched. His mind was in turmoil, screaming to him that the images before him were mere illusions; but his heart refused to believe it. His resolve and perseverance were weakening at an alarming rate.

Snaking itself out of the dry desert, a hand suddenly grabbed the Shadow Rider's foot. Stiffening in surprise, he looked down…

Only to see Brom's grief filled face looking back at him. The feverish eyes of his former mentor nearly made him scream in fear.

"Guard Saphira with your life! For without her… it's hardly worth living." Brom gripped even tighter on his boot, his face showing sorrow that Eragon now understood. Tears now started dripping down from his eyes.

_No__…__ I couldn__'__t protect her__…__ I nearly killed her__…_

Eragon covered his face with his hand. He couldn't stand the agony anymore, seeing his regrets and hidden wounds being uncovered and reopened. His mind, tired and fatigued by the sights, begged his body to give in to death… to never have to feel any emotion again. His heart seemed to be slowing down, aching from the pressure. Before he knew it, his view began to fade…

Then, it was as if the lingering determination that he still held took over his body, and with frightening speed, forced him to bite down on his tongue. He focused on the pain and the coppery taste, driving all other thoughts and fears out of his mind, trying to bury the regrets with his own resolve. He closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts in the chaotic state of his mind.

_Regrets__…_

So it was true. His mind was being manipulated to some extent, forcing himself to relive his most painful experiences and regrets. The wounds of the heart are slow to heal, and those were what the Vault was using as the weapons against him. Letting go of memories, no matter how painful, was difficult to Eragon.

Opening his eyes again, the Shadow Rider found that the illusions had vanished. Standing a bowshot away was the hooded man, silver sword by his side.

"You are still standing. I have to admit that I am impressed with the will of your mind." Cocking his head to the side, he laughed. "Just what one should expect from the great Arkiloth himself, hmm?"

Panting, Eragon gazed at the Vault, watching his every move, trying to predict his movements. What had just occurred had shaken him, and his confidence was wavering. Weighing his options in his mind, he couldn't come to a decision; whether to fight, or to flee for the time being. Eragon hid a small grimace behind his hand. He had truly gone soft… when was the last time he had ever thought of running from his enemy without a fight?

"No matter." Continued the Vault, his hand raising his sword beside him. "You merely dodged one of the many arrows that I have in my quiver. I have dozens, hundreds, thousands more! And I can't bear the sight of how pathetic you truly are. Shaken to the very roots of your mind by that simple test… are you truly the Keeper of the Vault? The Shadow Rider that is known throughout Alagaesia for his prowess with the blade, for his wit as sharp as a sword?"

"And I never thought that you would be one to bicker on about useless things." Muttered Eragon, brushing the grains of sand off his clothes. "So you brought me here to bore me on your meaningless words? To think that I've awaited this time for so long."

"Yes, yes. I agree with you on that point. But it excites me to play with your miserable mind, leading it into false paths and dead alleys. However, if you are so eager to bring about your doom…" The Vault's sword shimmered as if made of water, slowly lengthening and growing in width. It's surface was no longer silver now, but a rich, ruby red color. It was a hue that Eragon knew only too well.

_Zar__'__roc?_

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Feh. I hated writing this chapter. This wasn't actually going to be the actual ending, but the original was too tragic that I got rid of it ages ago. And do you know why I'm writing this chapter?

Because of the thrice damned prophecy Angela made. I'm gonna have a hard time making this storyline convincing…

Please tell me what you think!


	50. Chapter 49

The Shadow Rider stared disbelievingly at the crimson sword that the Vault held in his hand. The blade continued to shimmer, the blood red surface looking as if covered with liquid. Though Eragon could not see the face of the Vault of Souls, he was more than sure that the man was smirking under his hood.

"A beautiful thing, your old sword. Astonishing balance, outstanding grace…" The Vault swung the rider's sword through the air, as if testing it's worth. "And best of all, it has killed hundreds of Riders and dragons. Nearing _thousands_. Much more than the twin swords of the Dragon King himself. Even after all that, its edge is still as sharp as ever." The hooded man laughed. "You don't deserve to wield it. Despite your hard, impassive look you've kept all these years, you have the same soft heart you had ten years ago. In my eyes… you are nothing but dirt. Dirt that has kept me imprisoned all these years through sheer luck."

"Oh really?" hissed Eragon.

"I don't repeat myself." Replied the Vault with a chuckle. Raising his sword above his head, he leapt at the Shadow Rider with speed faster than Eragon would have thought possible.

Leaping to the side, the Shadow Rider struggled to keep his eyes from widening from fear and surprise. Never in his life had he seen one so swift, so precise in his movements. Even King Galbatorix, the man who massacred the Riders ages past, the one that even the great Arkiloth almost lost to, paled in comparison. Plenty of swordsmen and warriors Eragon had seen in his life, but none could compare to what he was seeing now. It was simply _inhuman_.

"Is that all you've got, O great and mighty Shadow Rider?" taunted the Vault as he lashed out once more, almost striking Eragon in the shoulder.

Eragon twisted aside and jumped backwards, snapping his arm back. It would be nigh impossible to kill the Vault. Even touching him would be a hard feat, especially in his emotionally weakened state. _What should I do?_

Gritting his teeth, he ran over his limited list of options. All these ages of experience, and nothing helpful enough to save him? Eragon ran his tongue over his lower lip. What had been his greatest tool all these years?

Determination. Eragon remembered telling one of his masters in the distant past that it was the greatest tool that a man could have. However, his master had said it wasn't.

But it certainly was the only thing he had left.

Raising his hand into position, he bent his legs, and charged forward with a silent prayer to whatever god there was. The sand blew in spirals around his feet, going unnoticed by him. In his eyes, there was only the enemy that had destroyed his life, hurt his friends and plagued him for over a decade.

Easily dodging the frontal attack, the Vault spun to the side and slashed down with Zar'roc with unfathomable ruthlessness. Eragon narrowly escaped the blow, and drew back, panting for air. _This is impossible._

Impossible? It certainly was. But it wouldn't stop him from trying to kill the Vault with his own hands. Setting back into his original stance, he gritted his teeth and prepared to attack again.

Wait. There were more ways to destroy a stronger, armed opponent then just incessantly throwing oneself at him. Many memories of fights long ago flashed through his mind, and one stood out in particular.

Grinning, he moved his legs into motion and raced towards his foe.

The hooded man laughed. "Surprise, surprise. You've always been like this, Eragon. Going on and going on until you and your friends collapse."

Seeing Eragon's hand reach toward his neck, he raised Za'roc lazily to block the blow.

"Just as I predicted. Not a single thought of improvisation—"

The Shadow Rider's sleeve lashed out and wrapped itself around the crimson blade, and yanked it downwards. The Vault grunted in surprise. Eragon's hand didn't stop, however. With rising speed, he struck it at the Vault's throat.

Only to find that his wrist was already grabbed tightly. Looking up, he glared at the hooded face. The Vault laughed even more.

"I was wondering when you would think up this small trick of yours." Said the Vault in a mocking tone. "Foolish boy. You thought that I wouldn't try to take a look at the memories you have, once I've dominated most of your mind? Such an obvious trick; it becomes even easier to see once you've learned of it."

Eragon struggled against the unnaturally strong power that kept him in place. But it was futile. His hand could barely move. Tugging on the sword was neither an option.

"Useless. As a being many times more powerful than you are, you don't stand a chance against me." Watching in amusement at the struggling rider, he cocked his head back in thought.

"Well then… let's give you another taste of hopelessness then. I never tire of toying with my prey."

After those words, Eragon nearly screamed in pain. Looking down, he saw that his enemy had kicked him right where his stomach was. Blood started to flow down his chin. The bruise that the Ra'zac had given him when he was young was nothing compared to the raw strength and brutality of the agony he had just felt.

"I love it when it comes to this." Raising his head again, the Vault stared straight up into the empty sky. "The joy of your enemy right in your grasp, with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and with no ability to fight."

Eragon felt another wave of unbearable pain. The Vault had kicked him again. Blood spurted out of Eragon's mouth.

"To see that dread. That hopelessness. That dull look in one's eyes."

Eragon started to stir from his thoughts. _My one last chance__…_

"It is what I live for." whispered the Vault.

"You disgust me." Replied Eragon. Then, his head moved forward and he bit down on Zar'roc.

"What?" exclaimed the Vault. For the first time since Eragon had met him, the Vault seemed genuinely surprised. Then he felt the emptiness in his right hand. Looking at Eragon, he screamed in anger at what had just occurred.

With the added strength of his jaws, Eragon had pulled Zar'roc out of his grasp. Though holding the sword in his hand, he looked even worse than before; blood continued to drip out of his mouth, and the Shadow Rider looked like he could barely stand.

"So you've still got something left in you." Said the Vault, no longer amused. "I shouldn't have played with you for this long. And now that you've actually won a bit over me, the game doesn't even seem interesting."

Eragon continued to pant, gripping the hilt of sword tightly.

"Now then… why don't we make this quick? I tire of this, and I believe that you do as well, _Brisngr_."

Eragon's muscles stiffened. It was as if someone suddenly filled them with lead. He could barely move them. Zar'roc fell out of his nerveless fingers with a thud in the golden sand.

"I know your true name, _Brisngr_. And with it, there is not the slightest chance that you could stand before me." The Vault started to walk slowly over to Eragon. "It was a game from the start. You knew it from the beginning, I believe. If you didn't, then I pity your idiocy."

Eragon's head was spinning. His limbs would not move, and he could hear the footsteps getting closer. He closed his eyes in.

"There is… such a thing called faith, and confidence in one's strength." Coughed out Eragon.

"And there are also such things as foolishness and unnecessary assumptions." The Vault continued to walk calmly at Eragon, as if he were on an evening stroll. "You are a pathetic excuse for a Rider, my friend, and—"

The Vault gasped. Then, he looked down at the crimson blade lodged in his heart. And at the hand wielding it.

Eragon grinned weakly, and spat out some blood. "So very predictable of you. But you're mistaken, I think. I'd be damned if I let my name, a _single_ word, control me."

The Vault touched the blade with a trembling hand. "It—it is not possible. I do not believe it!"

"My blade will kill you whether you believe it or not, bastard." Eragon licked away the blood covering his lips with a grin, and thrusted the blade in deeper. "This, is for the pain and misfortunes you've caused my friends and those around me."

The Vault struggled to remove the sword from his chest. But it was of no use. It was stuck firmly inside his body.

Smirking, Eragon twisted the sword slowly. The Vault groaned in pain.

"And this, my dear friend, is for completely ruining my life."

The Vault glared viciously at Eragon. "How? How did you manage to break free of my hold? It is impossible!"

"Because I believed. In myself, in my friends, and in my strength. And ironically…" Eragon smiled softly. "It's because you don't actually have something even resembling a soul."

The Vault stared at Eragon, maliciousness obvious. "You know it isn't over, Eragon Shadeslayer. I will return, and stronger than ever."

"I know."

A gust of wind blew the Vault into countless ashes. Za'roc sank into the sand noiselessly, and Eragon coughed out a mouthful of blood. Suddenly, he heard clapping.

Turning around, he looked at the very unexpected guest in his mind, mouth dropping in shock. "Galbatorix?!"

"Indeed, boy. Who else would you think would try to meet you in this drear place?" After surveying his surroundings with interest, he returned his gaze to the Shadow Rider. "That was quite a splendid performance there, boy. I didn't think that you would've lasted."

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "Didn't I kill you?"

"That's a foolish question. Of course you did. But I thought that I'd stop here before going on." Galbatorix's eyes flickered up to the black sky. "To clear up some things, since we are so much alike. If we weren't enemies, I am sure that we would have been great friends."

Eragon spat another mouthful of blood onto the sand. "Friends? I doubt it." He muttered.

Galbatorix looked at Eragon calmly. "What were the tales you heard about me when you were with the elves and the Varden?"

Raising his eyebrows, the Shadow Rider thought about it. Would he do it? But the man was implying that the legends Eragon had learned all these years weren't true at all… and that he planned to tell Eragon in full on how his life truly went. It was knowledge the Shadow Rider was curious about, and it was valuable to many. Also, after meeting the king in person ten years ago, Eragon had started doubting the earlier tales that others had told him.

Eragon cursed in his mind._Manipulative__ bastard._

So Eragon told the king about the stories he had heard since he was a child, and the stories he had heard from Brom and Oromis. It was spirit lifting to talk so long to someone again, though Eragon still doubted Galbatorix's true intentions. It was simply unheard of for the king to sit still while listening to one of his greatest enemies talk about the past.

After the long talk, the former king of Alagaesia sighed and leaned back against the sand. "Interesting. I never knew that the people saw me this way."

"You didn't?" Asked Eragon, surprised.

Galbatorix glanced at Eragon and chuckled. "Really, Eragon, did you think that someone would have the courage to come to their king and tell him that his people thought their royal highness was a mad man who took joy in slaughter? Even my most personal advisors wouldn't. And those who have just recently joined my council wouldn't even _think_of it. I do know that some of my men are spreading news on how I truly run the country, but a man's opinions on politics are often fixed in their brains."

Eragon nodded reluctantly. He had seen much of it in his travels.

"So I'll start from the beginning then." Folding his fingers together, he looked towards the sky. "My dragon wasn't killed by Urgals. She was killed by Riders."

Eragon's jaw dropped in shock.

"Ah, I believe that people haven't told you yet on how the riders were run on Vroengard." With a sad smile, he continued. "After young riders finished their training, they were immediately set to duel against the true riders to determine their power and rank. Approximately ten apprentices graduated every decade, and they were to challenge another one of the older riders to snatch their rank from them. The same went with original riders. It was a very harsh way of running things, but it worked, nonetheless. Because of this design, the riders were extremely feared and respected in the land. Even human riders would defeat elves eventually because of their conquest for more power."

Eragon listened silently. This wasn't something he had heard before, but Galbatorix didn't seem like he was lying.

"Roughly two hundred riders were given the task of keeping peace and order and Alagaesia. The top fifty in power and rank would be the ones in 'The Council of Elders'. Why 'Elders' you ask? The Shur'tugal in the council were almost always at least centuries old. It was an obvious fact; how could one beat another that had decades of experience within his mind?"

"The system was sound at first. The competitions were duels between friends, and it was never seen as an insult if a younger rider challenged another Shur'tugal thirty years his senior. The riders were competitive, but hate was never in their hearts if one defeated them and took their rank." Galbatorix sighed.

"But then it started becoming gruesome." He said in a low voice.

"Lives were finally taken in accidents. Riders would band together for revenge, and challenging one another to death matches was getting more and more frequent. Because of the cutthroat society, the riders strove to get more strength and power, to defeat those above him and to defend himself from those below him. The power of the riders reached its peak, and because of this fact the council overlooked the fact that lives were taken almost every year."

Galbatorix smiled, as if revealing a particular proud memory. "And that, is when I came in. After I finished my training with my masters, I was so confident in my abilities that I immediately set out to challenge Elder Riweliye, ranking _thirty-eight_in the Council of Elders. He was a wizened elf, probably three centuries older than me at the time; but he was still as powerful as his rank implied. It took me an entire day to defeat him, but when I did, I shocked every soul on that damned island. Word rang out that a mere fledgling rider defeated an elder, and a strong one at that."

Galbatorix's grin grew even larger. "I felt as if I was in heaven, boy. No one in any tale had ever entered the Council at such a young age. I had created history."

Eragon smiled softly at the man's enthusiasm. It was a thing he missed seeing from others.

"Most elders approved of my adding into their ranks. Hell, even Riweliye was content. But some people, namely elders, disapproved. They argued that I was simply too young, but I could see a word that was plainly written on their faces: Envy. I paid them no heed, and proceeded to march proudly around the island, happy about what fate had given me."

"A few days later, however… my hope and joy were utterly destroyed. While I was flying with my dragon in celebration of my rise in ranking, seven Elders ambushed me and killed her, severely wounding me in the process. Thinking me dead, they dropped me in the Hardarac before they left, preparing to tell the Council that I was attacked by a band of rogue Urgals while flying in the desert. A complete lie, I must add. Wounded and driven insane by loss, I wandered around Alagaesia, killing as I went. The following is as you've said; I traveled once again to Vroengard, and demanded another dragon."

"By that time, however, the Council had already thought me dead, and had believed the lies of the Elders that had killed my dragon. Thought of being insane and out of my mind, they denied my request." Closing his eyes, the king ran a hand over his face. "I was angered, and the sorrow and rage engulfed me. Vengeance was all that I thought of. And do you know what the most interesting part in all this?"

Eragon shook his head.

"The seven elders that had killed my dragon had all trained me once before." Replied Galbatorix with a grin that did not reach his eyes.

The Shadow Rider blanched. _So that was why Oromis said that Galbatorix made it his personal task to hunt down his mentors._

"Anyhow, I found two sympathetic riders that had once idolized me when I was still the famous Shur'tugal prodigy. One was Morzan, which I'm sure you heard of… and the other was an apprentice named Drezak."

Eragon raised his eyebrows at the unfamiliar name.

"Seeing my plight and believing my story, they created a plan for me to steal a dragon egg from the Ilirea breeding chamber. I happily agreed, seeing it as a way to return to my normal life; but alas, things went wrong again. Very, very wrong."

"The Elders had caught wind of our plan, and were waiting by the gates. Oh, how we fought, and slashed, killing one of them in the process… but eventually, we were forced to retreat. But Drezak was already mortally wounded, so he offered his hatchling Shruiken to compensate for his failure, and to make sure that his dragon would not be killed or left alone. Still holding my tears back in, I agreed, and ran alone into the wastelands, constantly on guard in fear of discovery. I forced Morzan to stay there, as his face hadn't been seen in our failed thievery. And that, my boy, is when I met Xanzarath."

The Shadow Rider gritted his teeth at the name he hated with every fiber of his being. He was the one who destroyed his life.

Galbatorix smiled grimly. "Brings up unpleasant memories, doesn't it?"

Eragon nodded slowly, and started to rethink what he had learned. It was similar to Brom's story in a strange way, but many vital points were changed. From Galbatorix's words, he found Xanzarath _after_ his attempt on the egg, unlike the first story he had heard from his mentor.

"I pleaded him to teach me the ways to harness the power of a Shade, and he agreed. Heaven knows why he wanted to teach me, as he never does things for nothing in return. Probably he wanted me to destroy the Grey Ones, as he couldn't do it himself because of his Kuthian vow." Galbatorix shrugged. "Knowing he was up to no good, after I learned how to siphon power from the Vault I attacked him in the middle of the night and imprisoned him in Helgrind."

Eragon frowned. "But that Shade told me that you killed him for no apparent reason, and because you didn't—"

"Trust him?" The king laughed. "He's a snake. He forced the Vault upon you, for the sake of the gods. Do you really trust his words after all this?"

Eragon shook his head. Galbatorix was turning over ideas that had stayed fixed in his mind almost all his life.

"Exactly. After that, it became easier. I returned to Uru'baen, and with the help of Morzan I recruited twelve more riders to help me in my revenge. With them, I swept across Alagaesia and killed every Rider I met. The rest, as they say, is history." Smiling, Galbatorix leaned back once more.

"About Morzan—" started Eragon.

"Morzan? An utter failure of a rider and a comrade. Because of all the years of war, his bloodlust was awakened and he became more beast than man at the end. And that is why I kept sending him on suicide missions until he died, even though he was the last of the Forsworn. But that he had to die on his last and most important mission was a miscalculation on my part." Galbatorix laughed. "And that miscalculation, my friend, is why you are sitting here and not in some farm in Carvahall."

"I'd rather be there than here." Muttered Eragon.

"I'm the same." Replied Galbatorix. "I'd rather I stayed in Kuasta."

"Wait. I've talked to Murtagh about the two times you've talked privately, and they both weren't in a good light. If you're not the blood thirsty dictator that you claim not to be, then why did you command Murtagh to burn all those in that rebel village?"

Galbatorix's smile froze on his face. "And that is the mark of being weaker than you, Eragon."

"What?" Eragon was startled by the unexpected remark.

"If one continues to draw power from the Vault, it is true that he will gain unlimited power… however, the price is the rebelling of the black magical forces inside of me. Rather like the massacre on the Varden soldiers you did when you first received the Vault, you were forced to insanity. I too, suffer from attacks like that. Though they pale in comparison to yours." The king smiled warmly at Eragon. "And that is why I admire you for being able to hold your own for so long."

Eragon let a small smile tug at his lips. The king was right; They were more alike than he had thought. Both betrayed, abandoned, and eventually on no side but their own.

Looking up at the sky, Galbatorix closed his eyes. "I'll be going then, Eragon. I know what you're trying to do, and I wish you luck on it."

Eragon's gaze remained on Galbatorix. "Thank you for your encouragement." He replied softly.

Raising a hand as a sign of farewell, the king disappeared like mist in the wind.

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There you go. The longest chapter I've ever pumped out.

This is a chapter with a strange perspective on things in the world of Eragon. I wanted to make it different from other stories on this site, so I added something that I created in my mind a long time ago: my idea of Galby's true past. Which brings me to talk about another subject.

As some of you might have noticed, I've gotten a flame because apparently the flamer thinks that I should follow the storyline suggested by CP. Oh well. The main point in me writing this story is to make it _different. _What fun is there for one to write a story repeated by everyone else? That, is why I made my story, bad as it may be (in my opinion). But I still thank the flamer for reminding me of my reason to write.

Also, I would like to thank you all for giving me an astonishing 15 reviews for the last chapter. It's what gave me strength to type this despite my frikin' frozen fingers.

That's all for now!


	51. Chapter 50

"Eragon." A voice called out urgently.

The Shadow Rider hissed in pain. The mere sound of one speaking was more than enough to send a sword of agony slicing into his skull. He closed his eyes even tighter, waiting for the pain to end. The hard ground he was lying on only furthered the suffering.

"Eragon."

He was growing frustrated. The persistent voice was driving him out of his mind, adding more pain to his already addled mind. Groping blindly at his sheath, he found that to his astonishment, both his knife and his sword were gone. _Why is that?_

"Eragon."

The voice had risen even louder. Grudgingly, he forced his eyes open a crack.

Arya was looking softly down at him, concern in her eyes. "Eragon? Are you alright?" Her hands were soaked in dark crimson liquid. _Blood? Where did it__…_

_You, little one._ Saphira's head snaked over as well, her distress mirroring Arya's. _During __our flight__, you started shaking__ uncontrollably__Before long,__ deep gashes began to appear all over your body__, as if someone had slashed them open with a sword__ We were frightened._Her sapphire orbs were filled with worry.

Taking in his body with his astonished eyes, he saw numerous blade wounds on his limbs, as well as uncountable cuts and bruises. Trailing a finger over his mouth, he found that it was wet and covered with blood.

It all came back to him in a flash: the battle, the duel with the king, the fight for dominance in the realm of his mind. The latter was presumably the reason for his state of injury.

Wiping at the corners of his mouth, he smiled gently. "It is alright, Saphira. I've gained momentary control over my mind, and the Vault won't attempt anything for the moment. For now, we're safe."

The dragon nuzzled her rider, relieved beyond measure. Eragon laughed and relaxed his tense body, looking at the leafy canopy above their heads.

_It doesn__'__t matter now. __After all that I__'__ve been through, I__'__ve reached__ the Menoa tree__. A__nd if my ideas were correct, this would be all over__…_

"I assume that you've survived the struggle then?" called a light, good-natured voice. The figure stepped from his position behind the blue dragon and smiled widely. "Exellent. You've apparently gotten better, Eragon."

Staring in disbelief at the figure in front of him, the Shadow Rider struggled to his feet. "Vanir? Why are you here?"

"He volunteered to come with me after hearing you plight." Explained Arya, a small smile on her features. "Vanir isn't one to leave his friends."

"Aye." Vanir grinned and walked up to Eragon, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Though it would be delightful for me to give you the misconception that out of all the friends you have, I was the only one that cared about your wellbeing… I have to say that Orik and Roran send their best wishes as well. Murtagh was also of the same mind, apparently. But due to their high rank and duty, they couldn't come with us on this little trip. Orik and your cousin are trying to control their men, while your brother is trying to round up the surrendered imperial forces."

"Are they?" muttered Eragon, running a hand through his hair.

"Aye." Examinating Eragon's injuries with a calculating eye, he moved his hand onto the wounds and began to heal them slowly.

Dropping down on his back again, the Shadow Rider heaved a loud sigh. It was all well and good, then. They weren't here, and that was one less trouble to deal with. Though it pained him, this was the best way.

"Vanir?" Arya's worried voice interrupted his thoughts. "What is wrong?"

Looking up once more, Eragon turned his eyes at the elf that was healing him. Vanir's hand was shaking, and his gaze was feverish. His face was as white as a piece of parchment, and beads of sweat were clearly visible on his forehead. He seemed as if he would pass out from exhaustion at any moment.

"Vanir!"

The elf stopped his magic and slowly raised his hands to eye level, muttering something under his breath. Color slowly started to return to his face, but he was still wearing a mask of utter confusion and frustration.

Turning slowly to Eragon, Vanir bowed. "Shur'tugal, I apologize for my incompetence. It seems that the control of magic has escaped me for the moment." The elf grimaced. "It seems as if I am still incompetent at such matters, even after all these years of—"

"No."

Both elves turned to look at the Shadow Rider, surprised. "Eragon? What do you mean?" questioned Arya.

Sighing, Eragon propped himself up with his arms and leaned back against a tree for support. "You do know how much influence the Vault holds on the magic you draw on, yes? As masters of magic, you both should know how closely linked the two are."

Arya and Vanir nodded hesitantly. "Yes, we have some knowledge on that particular part of magic. So what are you implying?" asked Vanir.

"The Vault of Souls is intertwined with the source of your people's magic, Vanir. It is the core, the heart of elven sorcery, even if many do not know it. If the Vault is destroyed or even disrupted in the slightest way, what you know of spell casting might be changed forever." Sighing, Eragon wiped some blood off his face. "I had hoped that it wouldn't come to this… but your fatigue earlier had confirmed my suspicions. And I didn't even completely destroy the Vault, yet."

Vanir frowned. "And by this you mean… what? I do know that the Vault is considered vital in the balance of—" the elf's eyes widened. "By the gods! Are you saying that… that…"

Arya looked slightly unsettled by this sudden revelation. But she did not seem as shocked as her companion; rather, she looked as if she were deep in thought.

"Yes." Eragon coughed out some blood on the ground, the crimson drops splattering on the leaves. "Yet no matter what step we take now, all roads lead to that inevitable end. The result was destined from the beginning, the creation of the Vault itself; it was a miracle that it took so long to become reality."

Vanir closed his eyes. "Say it in full, Eragon. I want to confirm what I just heard."

Eragon smiled grimly, exhaustion evident on his face. "Vanir, it is as you think: the destruction of the Vault will cause the collapse of elven magic."

"I—I see." Muttered Vanir, letting out a heavy sigh. Forcing out a small grin, he extended a hand towards Eragon. "If that is so, and there's nothing we can do to stop it, let's make this quick then! You asked to be brought here, and we did as you asked. Next?"

Struggling to stand up from the ground, Eragon rubbed his chin as if he was unearthing a long lost memory. "_When the time comes and you need a weapon, look under the roots of a Menoa tree._" Eragon whispered. "That was what a werecat told me a long time ago. I believe that I told you as well, Arya."

Arya nodded, while Vanir looked uncertain. "But Shadeslayer… I haven't heard of any legend concerning a weapon under that tree." He said, pointing at the Menoa tree in the distance. "If there was such an item that even a werecat respects, it would have been sensed by our spell casters long ago. It is impossible for it to have been hidden for so long."

"Indeed that is the case for most weapons. However, I've searched for information on this particular item and what I've concluded is that it's nowhere near the ordinary." Trailing his fingers through the dirt, the Shadow Rider slowly drew a symbol in the ground. "It once belonged to the Kuthian family ages past, serving as a last resort against the inevitable: their losing control over the Vault itself. This," he said, pointing at the design he carved into the ground, "Is the sign of what the riders called the 'White Key'. It's sole existence threatened to make the entire elven civilization collapse on itself; and when the elves heard about it, they used every means possible to steal it and then destroy it entirely."

Grimacing in pain, Eragon continued. "They certainly succeeded with their first task, but fortunately they didn't have a clue on how to do the next. After many tries and many failures, they finally gave up on their efforts and decided to seal it as effectively as possible." The Shadow Rider grinned. "I believe that you two now know what I'm talking about."

Realization dawned on Vanir's face. "The Menoa Tree?" he gasped.

"Correct." Said Eragon with a tired smirk. "That is why the Menoa tree is seen as one of the most important things in this city; not because it is the monument standing to represent failed love, as almost every elf thinks, but because it is the guardian to the biggest weakness of elven magic: The key to the destruction of the Vault of Souls, and the key to the destruction of the source of your power. And as we know, I—" The Shadow Rider stopped suddenly, sensing that something was amiss.

The familiar pressure began to form in the back of his mind, and pain began to creep back into his bones. The presence was unmistakable.

"Guess I've used too much time explaining the situation." Breathed Eragon. "The Vault… it's back."

Arya's face darkened. "I was hoping for another day before this would happen."

"So was I." muttered Eragon, trying to force down the mental strength emanating from the revived Vault. Beads of sweat started to gather on his brow. "However, there is no immediate threat. If I did it for ten years, certainly I can hold my ground for a few minutes here."

"Ah. Seeing that we have very little time left… Eragon, instructions on how to proceed, if you may?" Vanir straightened up and flexed his fingers. "It will do us no good if we just stay here."

"Indeed." Limping towards the roots of the great tree, Eragon felt around the rough bark as if he was searching for something. His fingers moved smoothly over the leaves and grass, feeling the texture and magic in every place. After a few moments of touching and muttering, the Shadow Rider smiled in triumph.

"Did you find it?" questioned Arya.

"Aye. It is quite well hidden, but it seems that some of the sealing spells have aged with time. It will be easier than I expected." Examining the spot once more, Eragon raised an arm and plunged his hand into the dark soil.

The Menoa tree suddenly shook ferociously, its leaves swaying violently in the non-existent wind. Roots raised into the air, only to burrow even deeper into the earth. Unfazed by the happenings, the Shadow Rider continued his work, whispering words in the ancient language, voice growing stronger with each word he spoke. With a cry, his arm drew out if the moist ground, holding the hilt of the most magnificent sword that they had ever seen.

Pure white was its blade, with numerous runes carved on the metallic surface. The soil did not cling onto its slightly curved edge, falling off of the sword the moment it left the still moist earth. There were no jewels, nor decoration placed upon it; yet it still exuded an aura of haunting beauty, reminding people of the glory that once was, and the magical strength the makers had in the days ages past.

Examining the sword thoughtfully, Eragon ran his fingers over it, noting the icy chill that came to his fingers. Nothing the Shadow Rider had seen in the past could even compare to the power that this blade had within it.

"Eragon!" Shouted a worried voice. What followed was the heaving tramping of leather boots. Several other people had arrived, and Eragon had more than just an idea of who they were.

The corners of his mouth lifted upwards. _Concerned to the end, aren__'__t they?_ He thought wryly. Grasping the hilt firmly with his fingers, he looked towards the two elves beside him.

"Arya?"

The princess of the elves looked back at him. "Yes, Eragon?"

The Shadow Rider handed the green rider a small scroll. "Please, read this after my work is complete. It won't be long."

The green rider peered at the roll of paper in her hands. "But what—"

"Trust me." Replied Eragon softly. Glancing upwards, he found that light was filtering through the thick leaves, casting the forest in an emerald light. It was dawn again.

_The end of the end, and the beginning of a new beginning. How fitting._

In a sudden movement, he turned the sword around swiftly and stabbed himself in the heart.

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I can't friggin' believe it. I actually haven't updated in a whole month.

For that, I'm extremely sorry. This chapter should have come out two weeks ago… but my damn laptop crashed down with a virus and I couldn't find this chapter afterwards… meaning that I had to retype it again. It sucked, really.

I'll apologize again, and I hope that you've all enjoyed this chapter.


	52. Chapter 51: The End of the Beginning

The telltale creak of a ship at sea, and the gentle rolling of the waves. The slight smell of salt in the wind.

_I made it._

Eragon opened his eyes slowly, and examined his surroundings. He was in the cabin of a skillfully made ship, clearly of elven make. Rubbing his head tiredly, he cracked a small smile, thankful of what had happened. He wasn't happy, but he was content.

"Eragon?" questioned a worried voice.

The dragon rider turned around and found that Arya was standing by the doorway, concern etched on her features.

"The weight that has been on my heart for ten hellish years is gone, Arya." Eragon laughed slightly. "The Vault, that damned Vault… I destroyed it, and I savored every moment doing so!"

"Eragon." The elf kneeled down by his bed. "Please explain to me what is going on. Your message simply told me to take your unconscious body and sail west; but there are many unanswered questions. Many people disagreed with even bringing you to the docks."

"It is simple." Lying back down on the bed, Eragon sighed. "The cause behind this hasty departure is because of the disrupt in balance that I have caused. With my own hands, I killed the Vault of Souls; the act of doing such would not cause just ripples in the world of magic and spell work. Putting it in simple words, I have created a maelstrom of unbalance… with me as the center. It would be calamitous for everyone; I shudder to even think about what would happen if I stayed in Alagaesia. Beasts would go wild, storms and floods would appear without warning, and droughts would be seen everywhere. People would die by the thousands."

"So knowing beforehand on what would happen, you decided to leave Alagaesia to lessen the unbalance?"

The rider yawned. "Correct."

"For how long then?"

"I can't guess." Replied Eragon. That wasn't true, however. The rider had an inkling on what the answer to the question was. _Like every single time… I hope you're wrong, Angela._

Eragon started as he remember something important that he forgot. Reaching into his clothes, he pulled out another small scroll. "Arya?"

"Yes, Eragon?"

"Give this to my apprentices if you see them. They'll be overjoyed to know that I'm still alive."

Arya took the scroll and put it gently in one of her pouches. "But… how _did_ you survive?"

Eragon ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. "Do you have the sword with you? Or is it somewhere on this ship?"

The elf nodded and reached out to the left of his bed, unsheathing the magnificent white sword. Thin wisps of vapor seemed to rise from the metal blade.

"This sword… referred to as the 'White Key' by the riders of old, is not a thing comparable to any blade that has ever existed in Alagaesia." Eragon took the sword gently from Arya's hands and touched it slightly with his finger. "Unlike common blades, it has a hidden magical might of its own. A pure power that could destroy almost anything the wielder wished, if the person had the skill to do so."

"Then how did—"

"The reason that I'm still alive?" Eragon grinned weakly. "Another bet of mine that I put everything on. The Key is a magical item created to destroy the Vault; I assumed that it would do nothing to its keeper."

Arya stared at the Shadow Rider in disbelief. "You risked your life on that little hunch?"

"No." said Eragon defensively. "It came from many scraps of knowledge and pieces of long forgotten lore that I've gathered throughout these ten years. Much more reliable than any guess one can make."

"But a guess never the less." Replied Arya in a hard tone.

Eragon grinned uneasily. "What's done is done. And they've turned out to be in my favor, in the end." Bringing a few strands of his hair before his eyes, he furrowed his brows in surprise. "Silver?"

"The crimson started to fade once we started our voyage, Eragon." Explained Arya. "Your eyes as well."

The Shadow Rider scratched his head thoughtfully. "How are the others?" he asked.

The elf smiled. "You should see for yourself, Eragon. Come outside." With that, she stood up with grace and left the small room. Eragon followed hesitantly.

"Oh, and Shur'tugal? Alalea has been sighted in the distance. It won't be long, now."

Eragon nodded and increased his pace.

The ship was much larger than what the rider had expected. It seemed as if it was built to accommodate several hundred people at the least, which made no sense to Eragon.

"Surprised by the size?" asked Arya, without looking back.

"Aye." Eragon replied, looking around curiously.

"This ship was one of the ten that brought the elves to Alagaesia. It has been preserved well with both magic and skill."

"Indeed. But why choose this one? A simple human made vessel will suffice for what I had in mind." Eragon examined the carved markings on the wood. "It seems a bit… too much."

"A few others wished to come along as well." Replied Arya simply.

Eragon stopped in his tracks, feeling several familiar presences. It finally struck him why Arya had prepared a ship of such massiveness.

"Ah." He said in realization.

Sapphire. Ruby. Emerald. The dragons had assembled on the deck of the ship, waiting for him. Murtagh and Vanir were talking, serious expressions on their faces. Roran was staring at the distant horizon, a look of fatigue in his eyes. But once Eragon stepped in with Arya, all ceased what they were doing and turned their gazes at the pair.

_Little one._ Said Saphira softly.

Roran embraced him and patted him on the back. Looking into each other's eyes, no words were needed. The emotions flowed freely.

Murtagh smiled broadly. "I can't believe that you're still alive, Eragon. After all you've gone through… it puts my own death-defying acts to shame."

Eragon laughed. "I cannot quite believe it either. But I'm still here, and that is all that matters."

"Indeed." Vanir nodded and stepped forward. "But we need to talk about more pressing matters, Shur'tugal." The elf looked straight into Eragon's eyes, and in a harsh whisper, he said, "Murtagh-vodhr has already explained to me what is happening, based on his knowledge of the Vault… is it true that you will have to leave Alagaesia forever?"

Eragon nodded grimly. "He is most likely correct. But don't tell the others." He sighed heavily. "They have more than enough to worry about." He stroked his dragon's neck tenderly, knowing that Saphira was listening to every word being said.

Vanir furrowed his brow. "What? The war is over. Things will finally be—"

"You are not taking into account the death of the elven queen, the passing of

Nasuada, and the chaos that will occur once the Empire truly falls." Eragon replied. "Peace will be the last thing that will come."

Blood left the elf's face. "The elven queen… are you entirely certain?"

"I am." Whispered Eragon sadly. "Another thing not to tell the princess, if you don't mind. She has too many things in mind at the moment; and it is best if she finds out by herself." He tried not to look back Arya, who was standing behind him, talking to Murtagh and Roran.

Vanir tilted his head in a small nod. "I agree." Looking over to the edge of the ship, the elf grunted in surprise. "We've arrived."

Eragon let out a breath and walked to the front of the vessel. The ship was currently going up a wide river; oars had come out of its sides, and it was heading upstream without much effort.

"Ready the horses." Ordered Arya. Several elves bowed and went into the interior of the ship. Eragon turned around in surprise.

"Horses?" he asked.

"We are not allowed to set foot on the lands in the west, being banished for more than a thousand years." Answered Arya. "The only place that elves are able to walk freely is Harokin, the port of the setting sun, which once was land of our own. But if we wish to go further with you…" she gestured to the animals being brought onto the deck.

Eragon chuckled. "A loophole you found?"

"Yes. But we are walking on thin ice as it is." Replied the elf. "Mount one. We will be leaving this ship shortly."

The Shadow Rider complied and chose a white mare. It reminded him of Snowfire. With Murtagh, Vanir and Roran behind him, he followed Arya down the ship and into the long deserted port. Nothing existed anymore that suggested civilization; and Eragon was not surprised. Several elves rode off the ship as well, holding long lances.

"We will accompany you for a short time." Said Arya in a soft voice. "Then, we will return to Alagaesia. We have many matters to attend to."

_She still doesn't know what the worst will be, _though Eragon, hands tightening on the reins.

The trip was done in silence. They surveyed the lands around the port, riding their horses. The three dragons followed them slowly. All was quiet except the occasional strike of hoof against stone. No one wanted to break the uneasiness, as they were all lost in their own worlds, thinking. The accompanying elven soldiers did not talk either.

_A pity,_ mused Eragon._ Here I am, possibly in my final moments I can spend with my friends, and yet we do not talk at all. Even Saphira is silent._

At last, they once again gathered in front of the ship. The heavy silence was still there. Ironically, the lack of words probably told more than what words would ever tell.

"So, I guess this is time to say farewell." Said Murtagh, in a cracked voice. Thorn bowed his head.

"Indeed. The stars watch over you, Eragon Shadeslayer." Vanir was the second speak. His words were trembling.

Roran clasped his hand in his and said nothing. Eragon smiled. "I'll see you in a few years, cousin."

Roran laughed. "You were always a terrible liar." His eyes were glistening with tears. "Don't try to fool me when you're a fool yourself."

Eragon raised his eyebrows. "I'll keep that in mind."

Turning to Arya, he could no longer keep the grin on his face. He merely bowed down, as if in respect. Arya did so in return.

"I hope I'll be seeing you soon, Arya Svit-Kona." Said Eragon lightly.

"Likewise." Was the quiet reply.

Eragon looked away. Not because he was already on the verge of tears, but because he was certain that Arya was too. She must have realized that the "I can't guess" he said earlier was a complete lie. _I seem to be horrible at lying,_ he thought bitterly.

Finally, he turned to Saphira. Unlike the others, she was strangely calm, as if she had just made an important decision.

Eragon cleared his throat. "Saphira—"

The dragon looked at him straight in the eye. _What are you doing, Eragon?_

Eragon blinked. _What?_ He asked, uncertain.

_Surely you don't intend to say farewell to me as well? Or do you?_

Eragon's eyes widened. _Saphira—_

_Don't you dare go on without me. I've already lost you for ten years. I'm not losing you forever._ Behind those words was an iron-hard edge that the Shadow Rider had never heard before.

Arya looked closely at the two. "She wants to stay, doesn't she?"

"She does." Replied Eragon, frustrated.

"Then let her. She needs you, and you need her more than you think." Arya put an arm on Eragon's shoulder. "People who have been destined to stay together will never be apart for long."

Eragon smiled. "I know. Very well then. Saphira will stay with me."

"Then we shall leave for now. Good luck, Eragon." With those parting words, the small group bowed once again, and started to board the ship. Thorn and the green dragon spread their wings and took flight, scales shimmering under the shining moon.

Arya seemed to be trembling, and Murtagh held onto her arm, comforting her. Vanir walked behind them, a hood covering his head. Roran looked one last time at his cousin before following the others as well.

The ship glided gracefully down the river, not making any sound, nor making any ripple. Without the aid of oars or wind, it gradually faded out of sight, and into the mist.

Eragon threw back his head and let out a loud, aching cry.

-----------------------

Over the seas, in the land of Alagaesia, a werecat looked to the west and bowed its head down in sorrow.

"I am sorry, Shadeslayer. It was the only way. The only way to rid the land of the evil that has plagued the land for so long."

It turned around, and returned to the tent that his companion had set up.

FIN

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Eragon, hard cover. Page 81. That's the scene.

You know what? I was crying when I was writing this chapter. Not because I was touched, but because this chapter was frikin' hard to write.

Anyway, this is the end of the story, _Shadow Rider_. More than half a year ago, I started this story; and though I am not completely satisfied with the results, I still thank every reviewer, and every reader that has read my story.

Stay tuned for my next story: _Night of the Falling Stars._ It will be better than this one, I'm sure.

I thank you all once again. bows


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